


You're Not Alone

by ijustknew



Series: You're Not Alone [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, MSR, Partnership, UST, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 57,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijustknew/pseuds/ijustknew
Summary: FBI agents Mulder and Scully's professional relationship and friendship deepens and takes on new dimensions during events in season seven.Contains explicit sexual situations, references to canon events, and original case files. Some parts of the story may contain graphic descriptions of violence and crime scene stuff. No kink or other character pairings.NOTE TO READERS: You're Not Alone is the first part of a multi-part series.





	1. Four Zombies & A New Year's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!

Timeframe: Takes place hours following Episode 7.01, Millennium

 

* * *

 

 

In seven years with Mulder on the X-Files, Dana Scully had seen a lot of things, some of it explainable, some of it inexplicable, but zombies were a new one. 

_Correction: The Four Zombies of the Apocalypse._

If she hadn’t seen one for herself, she would scoff at the notion. A part of her still did. The part of her that had always avoided embracing the fantastic over the rational tenets of hard science. The part of her that tried to extrapolate from available evidence and provide at least a less-fanciful description than her partner when it came to official reports.

The balance of the two had served them well over the years and she believed would continue to do so despite her recent willingness to go out on a limb with him more often, to believe beyond what science could explain. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still skeptical – the logical and reasoned would always be her go-to instinct – but she was at least willing to entertain more out-there explanations if scientific laws, facts, and accepted theories did not provide satisfactory answers. Or when her faith offered no reconciliation with the evidence.

Dana’s fingers touched the gold cross that lay high against her breastbone as she drove toward Mulder’s Alexandria apartment. He was asleep in the passenger seat, the pain medicine having kicked in shortly after leaving the ER. His injury wasn’t severe but the location – his bicep – was not the best place. The gash had required stitches and he needed to wear a sling for a few days to keep it as immobile as possible as healing began.

Glancing over at him, she smiled fondly. She knew her faith confused him. In the past, he’d had difficulty understanding why she could embrace an intangible deity but be dead set against even the potential existence of extraterrestrials. She still wasn’t sure she believed that, at least not with the certainty he did, but she could no longer disbelieve either. Not after Africa. 

That experience hadn’t shattered the Catholic faith of her upbringing but it had left her with questions that she could not answer and she doubted the family priest could either. If he knew, if the world knew, humanity would be thrust into an existential crisis of cataclysmic proportions. _Everything_ would be called into question.

The Word of God inscribed on the hull of a spacecraft millions of years old. A deranged zealot from a dismantled doomsday cult trying to bring about Armageddon through reanimated corpses. Both scenarios defied belief and yet Dana had experienced both. She had touched one and been touched by the other. Tangible things, both leaving their marks on her in one form or another. The physical would heal, the other would be with her the remainder of her life.

Just as it would Mulder.

He could be a pain in the ass, single-minded, selfish, and beyond infuriating but she loved him. He was her partner, friend, and confidante.

_My touchstone._

As she turned her eyes back to the road, watching the pavement for black ice, she thought about the kiss he’d given her tonight. She hadn’t expected it but she hadn't protested. In fact, she’d automatically pursed her lips, shut her eyes, and lingered. Then she’d returned the little smile he gave her, and confirmed his observation.

The world, indeed, had not ended. Despite the efforts of the Millennium Group and hysterical doomsday prognosticators. Or because of a kiss between two long-partnered FBI agents.

 _That was a long time coming_ , she thought. Their mutual attraction had been on simmer for years and they’d close to acting on it a few times in the past. Just a few weeks back, she’d been tempted to kiss after they’d confessed the essential role they played in each other’s lives. But that would have been inappropriate on the heels of delivering the news of Diana Fowley’s murder. 

Diana had been his friend and past lover, and Dana respected what she’d meant to Mulder even if she herself had never trusted the woman. Then there was the jealousy.

Although Dana’s suspicions about Diana had proven largely true, she hadn’t liked her reaction to the woman’s reentry into Mulder’s life, either time. Of course, he hadn’t helped things by distancing himself from her almost immediately, both times, and then dismissing out of hand  her concerns about Diana. His refusal to listen to her had been insulting and infuriating. She’d come close to leaving the X-Files and the Bureau over it, especially after she’d been censured. 

Leaving Mulder would have been unthinkable before Diana’s second return. Their work relationship had been running smoother than ever and they’d grown much closer personally, to the point Dana had begun to seriously entertain the thought of more with him. And then she’d been shoved to the sideline again, feeling as welcome and needed as a cancer diagnosis. 

It had hurt their partnership and her professional pride had taken a hit, but it was the personal aspect that had damned near gutted her. He’d been her touchstone for almost six years, well before either of them had confessed that sentiment aloud, and then he’d removed himself from her, no longer his confidante or friend, leaving her without an anchor or rudder.

But she had let it all go the instant he’d been afflicted with a condition that would have eventually taken his life if untreated and no cure found. Healing him had been her sole focus from then forward. 

Enraged when they’d denied her access to him and stymied by the limitations of modern medicine and science, she’d taken the leap he would have, just as he would have. 

Telling no one and using a burner identity provided by The Lone Gunmen, she had boarded a plane to Africa and sought answers in the markings found on the surface of a partially submerged UFO – the markings that had started it all.

Yes, she, Dana Scully, doctor and scientist and notorious skeptic, had sought out a spacecraft of unknown origin. She had gone off grid, trusting no one because the only person she completely trusted had been lying incapacitated in a hospital.

Dana wasn’t sure if what she found there had actually helped him in the end but it had definitely affected her, rattling her belief systems and leaving her with more questions than answers. 

She was still grappling with the _visitations_ of Albert Hosteen; the Navajo codetalker had appeared to her twice in her home while he’d actually been laying on his deathbed in New Mexico. He couldn’t have been there and yet he had been, a warm and familiar presence when she had felt utterly alone and completely helpless. At his guidance, she had prayed with him then woke to find Diana Fowley’s defense department pass on the floor just inside her apartment. The pass had provided access to the secret recesses of the Pentagon where Mulder was held, allowing Dana to find and save him. 

While she had not liked Diana, Dana had grieved the woman's murder, knowing the agent had probably been killed for helping her. More than anything, she grieved for Mulder and his loss.

In the last couple of months, she and Mulder had been working their way back to one another, making bigger strides than she’d expected, big enough to facilitate tonight’s kiss, ushering in the Year 2000.

Her lips tingled anew at the thought of it. It had been sweet and, she felt, a physical acknowledgement of their feelings for one another. She couldn’t peg when it began for her. She’d been aware but it hadn’t become a serious, conscious consideration until the encounter with Phillip Padgett and his psychic surgeon. 

Shivers shot down Dana’s spine and an ache filled her chest cavity at the phantom memory of cold fingers wrapping around her heart, clenching.

_Agent Scully is already in love._

Yes, she was, and remained so.

So why the hell had she found Padgett’s attention so seductive? Why had she ignored every alarm bell the man set off, every red flag raised? Why had it taken him saying those words before she fully acknowledged the truth of them? 

_I’d known, hadn’t I? Even before the batting lessons, when I had felt clearly for the first time that tell-tale shock of desire, for someone I cared about deeply, in all its forms?_

Dana considered that her confusion was possibly related to the fact that her relationship with Mulder was drastically different than those of her past. He had been her co-worker first, then her partner, then her closest friend, then something entirely different altogether, more than a friend and more than lover. He frequently teased and flirted and rather than protest, she teased and flirted back. And yet neither of them had made a move.

Dana wondered if that was about to change, a thought that intrigued her on many levels. 

For one, she enjoyed his company already, unless he was being a selfish jerk. She also respected him, which admittedly wasn’t critical to sexual chemistry but certainly a motivator for her. She found his passion and commitment to his cause addictive, disconcertingly so, because it compelled her to follow him even when she thought he was out of his mind. And she was hopelessly enamored of his intelligence. Then there was the physical attractiveness, proof undeniable found in his tall, graceful body, those bedroom eyes, and that sinfully full bottom lip.

Dana flushed at her erotic assessment and smiled at the words her mind provided: _Proof undeniable._

It had been longer than she cared to remember since she’d heated the sheets with a man but she wasn’t inclined to just jump into bed with her partner no matter how _in love_ they might be. What they shared ultimately wasn’t rooted in physical attraction and definitely not a single, revolving emotional state. Whatever happened between them would happen, when it was supposed to, or not at all. Planning or forcing it would be a disaster with how their minds worked – she would definitely overthink it – and fretting over it would be pointless considering they frequently had more immediate worries.

 _Sex would be nice, though_ , she thought. 

But not tonight. Tonight, she was content knowing he was alive and not too terribly maimed from his encounter with the _undead_.

Pulling into the nearest open space in front of his building entrance, Dana shut off the engine and looked over at her still-sleeping passenger. Early in their partnership, the few times she’d seen him asleep, there’d been an almost boyish innocence about him. Now, more than a few years and harrowing events under his belt later, that boyish innocence had become the solemness of a man who’d seen, experienced, and sacrificed more than his fair share. The knowledge broke her heart a little.

“Mulder,” she said softly, hoping to wake him without startling him, in case his subconscious was on alert after the evening’s events.

When he didn’t stir, she reached over and touched his forearm and repeated his name.

“Yeah,” he mumbled then slowly turned his head and looked at her through hooded, long-lashed eyes. _Bedroom eyes._

“You’re home,” she told him.

He nodded and blinked but didn’t move to get out of the car. She smiled.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside and into bed,” she said.

“Wanna cuddle, Scully?” he smirked sleepily.

“You wish,” she groused playfully but couldn’t deny the warmth that came with the suggestion.

“Tease,” he pouted.

“Bed, Mulder,” she ordered.

“Shower,” he said on a yawn. “I don’t want to sleep in zombie funk.”

“Okay,” she agreed even though it would delay her return home.

Under normal circumstances, she would just leave him to take care of himself, but he was going to need help wrapping his arm to keep the bandage as dry as possible. Plus, she didn’t want him to be alone in case he slipped and fell in the shower, which was a possibility in his medicated state. She would rest better knowing he was safely tucked in for the night and besides, she didn’t plan to sleep in _zombie funk_ either.

While he lumbered out of the car, Dana fetched his _go-bag_ and the hospital belongings bag out of the trunk then followed him up to his apartment.

With her help, he managed to get out of the sling without too much discomfort but the t-shirt proved a bit trickier. He complained as she worked it off but there was no sign of new bleeding. 

He turned on the water in the shower while she sought out cling wrap from his kitchen and then the medical tape from the first-aid kit stowed under his bathroom sink. The kit had been a practical gift from her years ago after seeing how frequently he was injured in the line of duty. Their cases were far more dangerous and unpredictable than those of the average agent.

Her partner leaned against the counter while she worked, covering and sealing off the bandage with the plastic wrap and tape. “Make it quick,” she told him then asked him if he wanted anything to eat before he went to bed. He shook his head and she squeezed his hand before stepping out into his bedroom.

While he cleaned up, she set out something for him to sleep in then returned to the kitchen and fixed him a glass of water. She located the prescriptions they had picked up at the all-night pharmacy and set them on the nightstand, within easy reach. 

She turned her attention to his _go-bag_ next, putting in a clean t-shirt to replace the one he’d donned at the hospital. She’d cringed when she’d gotten a good look at his designer suit jacket and shirt – they had been beyond salvaging – and wondered why he even bothered with Armani.

She was loading his laundry basket with the dirty clothing that lay in the floor beside the dresser when he emerged from the bathroom, his towel-dried hair sticking up in all directions.

“You don’t have to do that, Scully,” he said, seeing what she was doing. 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t stop. Someone had to do it or it would probably sit there another week, and that was if they didn’t leave town on a case.

“You live like a frat boy, Mulder,” she accused.

“Oxford doesn’t have fraternities,” he informed her as she took the basket to the laundry closet.

When she returned, he was sitting on the side of the bed, dressed in the pajama bottoms she’d set out for him. He was looking thoughtfully between the plastic wrap on his arm and the white t-shirt in his hands, apparently debating which to deal with first. With a smile, she went and carefully removed the wrap without affecting the bandage, which was slightly damp in only a couple places near the edge.

“Nice job, Scully,” he congratulated her.

She accepted his praise by ruffling her fingers through his hair. She ducked into the bathroom then and disposed of the wrap and tape. When she returned, she helped him finish shrugging into the shirt. He stood then and tossed aside the bedcovers using his left hand; he held his right arm close to his body.

“You still going to your mother’s tomorrow?” he asked as he sat again.

The question surprised her. In the insanity of the last few days, she’d forgotten that her mother was hosting a luncheon after New Year’s Mass. Father McCue would be attending, along with a few other ladies from the church. Her brother Bill and sister-in-law Tara would be there, too, with their son and new daughter.

“Yes,” she said and noted silently that she wouldn’t be able to make Mass, needing to sleep in to make it to dinner. She wasn’t entirely happy about it, but she could live with it.

As for Mulder, her mother had invited him but he’d yet to tell her his decision. 

She turned off the overhead light. “Are you coming?” 

He cut an amused but sleepy glance at her before maneuvering himself under the covers. “Will your brother be there?”

“Yes,” she said, donning a similar look of amusement. “He and Tara have been here since Christmas.”

“That explains why you rushed right down to the graveyard when I called.”

She neither confirmed nor denied the assertion but took the bedcovers from him and pulled them over his prone form. She then helped him situate his injured arm above rather than under the blankets.

“Regardless, you’re still welcome to join us,” she told him.

“Right,” he scoffed.

“Mom wouldn't have invited you if she didn’t want you there, Mulder,” she admonished then reached for the bedside lamp to shut it off. He caught her other hand before she could, prompting her to look down at him.

“Will you thank her for me?” he asked.

“Of course.” She flicked off the light but he didn’t let her go. He continued to hold her hand and she felt his thumb slide along the side of hers.

“Was it okay that I kissed you?” he asked with what she could only describe as a boyish sweetness. 

She smiled even though she knew he couldn’t see her face; the living room light was spilling from behind her into the bedroom.

“Yes,” she told him and squeezed his fingers. Then, on impulse, she bent and touched her lips to his in a near repeat of their earlier kiss.

“Get some sleep, Mulder,” she said softly as she withdrew. “Call if you change your mind about lunch. I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll pass,” he said and she felt a twinge of sadness. While she understood his reason for declining, she still wished he would come, if for no other reason than he wouldn’t be spending the holiday alone.

“The invitation still stands,” she told him then squeezed his hand in reassurance and wished him a good night.


	2. Deviled Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully joins her family for New Year's Day lunch.

Dana Scully liked holiday celebrations

Growing up, the Scullys honored the expected traditions of a naval officer’s devout Catholic household – and those of the average American family. Mass, lots of food, and presents at Christmas. Mass and egg hunts on Easter. Barbecue and firecrackers on Independence Day and Labor Day. Military ceremonies on Memorial and Veterans days. Staying up ’til midnight on New Year’s Eve. A big family meal and college bowl games on New Year’s Day.

Food, laughter, and playing with siblings and cousins, those were the order of the day, and any disagreements or personality clashes usually blew over rather quickly for fear of missing out on any of the fun.

In recent years, holidays had changed for her. She spent many of them on the road with Mulder, checked into ramshackle motels with thread-worn towels and questionable stains on the bedding and carpets. Sometimes she resented the degree to which her career had subsumed the normal traditions of life, but not always. There had been times, her mother definitely resented Dana’s level of commitment to her job even though she rarely complained. She seemed to understand that Dana’s chosen path was important and that working with Mulder was essential to her happiness. 

Dana’s big brother, on the other hand, resented it all. He blamed Mulder for absolutely everything that had happened to the Scully family since she started working on the X-Files. She suspected Bill would blame Mulder for their father’s death if he could. The scrapes on her neck were only the newest indictment against her partner.

She’d barely stepped inside their mother’s home before Bill had started inspecting her injuries, making her instantly regret not wearing a turtleneck. He went so far as to grasp her chin and tilt her head up to get a better look at them. Irritated, she’d shoved his hand away and declared “I’m fine” before stepping past him to embrace her mother.

Bill had pouted, of course, mumbling something under his breath before wandering off to elsewhere in the house. She hadn’t bothered to pursue him or offer any explanation; it wasn’t any of his business. Instead, she’d followed her mother into the kitchen to help with the final preparations for lunch. 

Currently, she was spooning the filling into deviled eggs alongside her sister-in-law, Tara. The sweet-tempered blonde was a wonder in the kitchen and well-suited to her brother’s disposition, which was perfectly amiable with anyone not named Fox Mulder. She had also looked at the marks on Dana’s neck, albeit from a distance, and asked if they hurt. She’d seemed relieved when Dana told her the injuries would heal quickly.

 _Quicker than Mulder’s_ , Dana thought and decided she would call him after lunch to see how he was feeling. She expected he would be sore and stiff but a bit of careful activity would relieve most of that and the meds would take care of any other pain. He would need to change the bandage, though, and she didn’t know if he could manage one-handed.

 _Knowing him, he will wait until I show up_ , she mused. With anyone else, that presumption would annoy her. With him, well, it didn’t usually annoy her unless he’d put off critical care until she was available.

Finishing up the last egg on her tray, Dana ventured to the sink to wash the utensils and bowl. She was just setting the latter in the drainer when the doorbell rang. The voice of Father McCue followed, then the chatter of the women her mother had invited. 

Dana only knew the ladies in passing but endured their hugs out of politeness as they made their way through the kitchen to help take the prepared dishes to the dining room. The contact wasn’t something she relished. It was a boundary thing that had taken root at some point during college and remained necessary in her profession. She could count on one hand the number of people she would accept hugs from, most of the time. Her mother was one. Another was the man who made his way into the kitchen on the heels of the churchgoers. 

She smiled at the sight of him being embraced by her mother. He winced when his slung arm was bumped in the exchange. Her mother apologized but he smiled and thanked her for inviting him.

The shine of Mulder’s entry was dulled somewhat by the scowling countenance of her brother, just over her partner’s shoulder. She half-wished she had something she could throw at him but chose to raise her eyebrow at Mulder instead.

“Change your mind?”

“Heard there was free food,” he said and closed the distance to her as the last of the other guests cleared out of the room. She noted he was still wincing and eyed him suspiciously, her physician’s instincts kicking in.

“What did you do, Mulder?” she asked and he looked more than a little guilty as he peered down at her.

“Slipped on ice on the front steps of my building,” he confessed.

Dana rolled her eyes. He was a graceful man, except when he wasn’t.

“Let me have a look,” she said and directed him into the breakfast nook. The nook was a small area just off the kitchen, at the back of the home’s main open room, just beyond the living and dining areas.

Dana washed her hands at the sink and snagged a clean towel before rejoining Mulder. She cast a glance toward the diners who were settling in at the big table. None of them were paying any attention to her and her partner, including Bill, which made her happy.

“Did you drive?” she asked discreetly when she rejoined her partner.

“Took a cab,” he said as she helped him out of his jacket and then the sling. She imagined they probably looked fairly comical considering the difference in their heights. She wasn’t quite sure what it looked like when she began unbuttoning his over-shirt but she couldn’t be bothered to care when she saw a significant and growing blood stain on the fabric.

Eyes on the area, Dana finished off the buttons and helped him shed the shirt, leaving him in his plain, white tee.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked, eyes focused on the bandage.

“I landed on my ass,” he answered and she _heard_ his smirk.

She ignored it and continued her queries, both the doctor and partner in her worried that he wasn’t telling her everything. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the first time he’d misjudged the nature or severity of his injuries.

“Did you catch yourself on your hands? Hit your ribs?” 

She asked both questions but sought the answers herself, before he could answer, catching his hands and looking at his palms – no scrapes – and then pulling up his t-shirt to look at his ribs and lower back – no signs of impact or bruising.

“If you’re finished undressing me, Scully–” he started but she cut him off with a look and command to sit down, which he promptly obeyed.

Without ceremony, she rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt then grabbed the next nearest chair and set it as close to him as possible. She sat and removed the bandage.

“Ow,” he said when she pulled the tape off, taking a few arm-hairs with it.

She shot him an apologetic look, which quickly became a scowl when he teased, “Scully, would you be offended if I asked you to show me your diploma?”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she fussed and began inspecting the stitches. She frowned. “You’ve pulled several.” 

With the wound’s location, any quick or exaggerated movement could strain the stitches. A fall encompassed both and several of his stitches were torn completely, leaving a few lengths of the wound open enough to increase the chances of infection. She was irritated, but not at him. The stitching was nowhere near up to her standards.

“Mulder, did they let a med student do these? Did the doctor check them?” she asked, silently scolding herself for not paying closer attention to his welfare instead of worrying over Mark Johnson and Frank Black. If she’d known…

“I just told him to finish up so I could see the ball drop,” he said in response.

Dana rolled her eyes.

“Damn it, Mulder,” she scolded then sighed, trying to shove her irritation to the background so she could take care of him. “I need to redo these, pull the others, and do them, too,” she told him.

“Hospital?”

Ideally, but she could only imagine the scene her brother would make if she left now, with Mulder. Besides…

“No, I can do them here. There’s good light. I just need my kit from the car.”

“I’ll send Bill.”

Dana glanced over to see her sister-in-law carrying a pitcher of tea and already heading back out of the kitchen. Dana wasn’t sure asking Bill was any better than she and Mulder leaving but Tara was gone before she could suggest a different course.

“This should end well,” Mulder snarked and a corner of her mouth crooked up involuntarily.

“Maybe he’ll take pity on you,” she teased but frowned when she looked back at the wound. “There’s no sign of infection,” she said with relief then asked, “Did you take your antibiotic this morning?”

“Like the good boy that I am.”

She rolled her eyes and sat back. She cocked her head and eyed her partner.

“Zombies,” she said, smiling outright. “Only you, Mulder.”

He nodded toward her. “And you, apparently.”

“Yeah, well…” she began but let her voice trail off when she caught sight of her brother entering the kitchen. 

Hoping to deter him from lingering, she rose to meet him and take the medical bag, but it didn’t work. He followed her into the breakfast nook and stared at Mulder with open disdain.

“What were you chasing this time? Vampires? Werewolves? More of your little green men?”

Standing next to Mulder, Dana gave her partner a look that pleaded for him to not take the bait. They had a house full of her mother’s guests, two children, and their family priest, for God’s sake. 

_Please don’t. Not now._

To her brother, she issued a stern audible warning, “This is not the time or place, Bill.”

His glare shifted to her but she didn’t flinch. She gave him the same look she’d give any one of her male peers, superiors, or local authorities who thought she belonged in the kitchen and not out in the field or in an autopsy bay. After several tense moments, he finally walked away.

“Where’s your gun, Scully?” Mulder said as soon as Bill was out of earshot.

“Why?” she asked while she opened the medical kit and set out what she needed to suture his injury.

“Well, you’ve shot people with less provocation,” he answered in dry amusement. 

She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, not quite as amused but unable to be angry with him under the circumstances. “I shot you for your own good.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that for your brother.” 

“Hope it doesn’t come to what for Bill?” came her mother’s voice from the direction of the kitchen.

Dana looked over her shoulder at her. “It’s nothing. I just need to take care of this for Mulder. Then we’ll join you.”

Instead of leaving them, her mom moved closer and looked at Mulder’s arm then up at Dana’s neck, leaving her daughter more than a little self-conscious.

“We’re fine, Mom,” Dana offered even though she knew her assurances wouldn’t quell her mother’s worries, at least not completely.

“Do you need anything?” her mother asked as Dana pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

“I’ve got it,” Dana said, meeting her mother’s gaze and giving her a little smile. “We’ll be there in a few.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	3. A Stitch in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tara Scully guiltily observes her sister-in-law's interactions with her FBI partner and friend.

Entering the kitchen to warm a bottle for her daughter, who’d woken, along with Matthew from their naps, Tara Scully observed her sister-in-law with her partner. With Bill sitting next to her at the table, she had studiously avoided doing so while in the dining room, keeping him engaged in conversation with the other guests.

Just now, though, out of Bill’s sight, she could safely look at the two huddled together in the breakfast nook. Dana was quickly and confidently stitching closed the wound on her partner’s upper arm. It looked painful, much worse than the scratches on Dana’s neck, making her want to know what had happened to them. But she knew better than to ask. 

Dana _did not_ talk about her work and Tara wondered if it was because of the things Bill had told her about Agent Mulder’s interests or if it was a general rule for her sweet-but-enigmatic sister-in-law. She thought maybe the truth was somewhere in between. From what Margaret had said, Dana didn’t tell her much either.

Seeing Dana smile as her partner whispered something, Tara felt a little guilty. She honestly hadn’t come to the kitchen with the purpose of watching them, but there was something compelling in their interaction. 

Dana rarely looked entirely comfortable with anyone, but she did with him, even when she frowned or sent him a little glare. Whenever she did the latter, he would laugh softly and then Dana would smile again, an easy, genuine smile, so unlike those Tara had seen her wear in the past. The exchange was almost intimate, as if it were something deeply private and not meant for other’s eyes.

Marginally ashamed for watching, Tara turned back to her task quietly and did her best not to call attention to herself. She suspected she had succeeded when the partners joined the rest of the party a few minutes later, without a glance in Tara’s direction.

The pair sat side-by-side, between Father McCue and Margaret, and squirmed when a few rather personal queries about the nature of their relationship were batted about as friendly conversation. Dana, as Tara expected, nipped it in the bud quickly explaining that Agent Mulder was her partner at the FBI. Then, of course, questions about what they did, cases and such, surfaced but the pair worked in unison to deftly answer the questions without actually telling anyone anything. 

It was a fascinating byplay but Tara spent most of it worried about her husband. He was positively seething, tension radiating off him like heat from a fire. She desperately wished he would move past his contempt for the gentle, self-effacing, and clearly intelligent man sitting next to Dana before he truly damaged his relationship with his sister.

Reaching under the table, Tara placed her hand on Bill’s thigh and willed him to look at her. He did and she silently telegraphed: _Let it go. Please_. Dana must have caught the look because her expression was one of gratitude when Tara looked her way again.

Later, after most of the guests were gone and they were cleaning up the dishes, Dana verbally expressed her thanks. Then she apologized for making things tense with Bill. 

Tara refused to hear it and told Dana that it was in no way her fault, and it wasn’t her partner’s either. “He’s a Scully. Stubborn to the bone,” she said of Bill.

“To the marrow, I’m afraid,” Dana replied then glanced at her partner who set his coffee mug in the sink, turned on the water, and proceeded to wash it one-handed. Dana watched him intently. 

“Why don’t you do that when you have both hands available?”

“Because if I leave it long enough, you’ll see it when you come over, then do it for me,” he said with one side of his mouth turned up in a completely smart-ass expression. “You’re the only reason my apartment’s ever clean, Scully.”

Tara smothered a smile when Dana just looked at him and deadpanned, “Do I need to go get my gun, Mulder?”

“Would you aim higher or lower this time?” he teased.

Dana raised an eyebrow and the barest hint of a smile dallied at the corners of her mouth. “Do you really want to find out?”

He grinned brightly then, saying on a soft laugh, “One demonstration of your expert marksmanship in my direction is enough, Scully.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dana said in response.

It wasn’t until later that Tara realized what the exchange implied. But she didn’t dare seek confirmation.

Around two, Tara found herself sitting in the breakfast nook that Dana and her partner had occupied earlier. Dana’s medical kit was in the corner, out of the way, and Agent Mulder’s bloodied shirt was folded neatly atop it. The owners of said items were outside talking and she suspected she knew the subject. 

Children.

Although Tara was mindful of her sister-in-law’s understandable sensitivity to the subject of motherhood and offspring, she could do nothing to change the sadness that must encroach upon Dana at this time of year. Nor could she remove the minefield that children themselves brought to any given situation. Babies cried and toddlers made demands. 

Earlier, Matthew had plopped down into his Aunt Dana’s lap without ceremony and told her to read him a story. She had, patiently, and exchanged glances with her partner every so often who looked on with clear affection and a depth of understanding that surprised Tara.

He knew – and Dana knew that he did – and recognized the joy and sorrow that came with the interaction with Matthew.

Tara felt a surge of warmth for the man at knowing he cared that deeply for Dana and that Dana was able to share a very personal pain with him. 

 _That_ was also something Tara’s sister-in-law didn’t do with just anyone.

Tara wished Bill could see what she was seeing now and what she’d seen earlier in the kitchen. She wished that he could watch the interactions without prejudice and know what Tara knew:

That Dana loved her partner, who clearly loved her in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	4. Confessions Under a Cedar Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in the snow...

“I didn’t realize you had a new niece.”

Dana gazed out across the backyard of her mother’s home and the blanket of white left by an early morning snow storm and she sighed. She glanced at the man beside her. He was leaned back against the porch railing, caring hazel eyes watching her. She felt tears prick her own eyes and looked away, trying not to let her thoughts drift to why it troubled her.

“I’m not sure what it says about me, but I try not to think about them.” He covered her hand where it gripped the railing. “I’m happy for them, Mulder,” she continued and meant it despite the huge caveat attached. She shared it with him, believing he was the one person who would not judge her for it. “I don’t want to resent them but sometimes I can’t help it.”

When he responded, his tone was decidedly intimate, not the polished professional one she could have expected from any other psychologist. “I think that’s a perfectly normal thing to feel, Scully.”

She knew that, rationally, but she’d never felt particularly rational about what had been done to her and the resulting sterility. She smiled a bitter, fleeting smile. “It makes me feel like a selfish, unreasonable bitch.”

His hand left hers, his gentle fingers finding and brushing at a strand of her fiery hair as it stirred in the wind. He secured it behind her ear, prompting her to look at him again. 

“You are a lot of things, Scully, but never selfish or unreasonable,” he said then teased, his fingers lingering against her skin, “Although I’ve heard the bitch has escaped a time or two and blistered Skinner and company on my behalf.”

“Once or twice,” she confirmed with a self-conscious smile. 

He held his hand out to her. “Walk with me, Scully.”

She did, folding her gloved fingers into his as they slowly made their way off the porch. 

Snow crunched beneath their feet as they walked. She experienced a flash of worry when he lost footing slightly and considered that what they were doing might not be wise. But when he didn’t seem to experience any pain, she made a selfish choice, the desire for physical distance from her family overriding that worry. She really only let Mulder near when she struggled with the recurring ache in her womb and even then, she rarely let him in for long.

When they reached the back fence, Scully looked at the community lake just beyond. It wasn’t much of one really, just a large landscaped pond designed to get people to pay more for the property, but it was still a peaceful view.

A strong wind blew and she felt Mulder move closer. He released her hand and wrapped his left arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, shivering as the cold made its way under the hem of her coat. 

After a few moments, she suggested they continue walking to keep warm. Her partner agreed and likely knew it was a ruse to move further away from prying eyes, namely her brother’s. If Bill caught sight of her with her emotions so near the surface, she was afraid he might take it out on Mulder.

When they reached the gate, she opened it and they made their way hand-in-hand down to the walking path. It was covered with snow, too, but there was a clear differentiation in the surface, indicating its presence.

As they strolled slowly through the snow, she glanced over her shoulder every now and then to gauge their position and distance from the house. It was too cold to make it a long walk, but she did want to be out of sight of the house. Once they were far enough away, she released Mulder’s hand and took shelter from the wind behind the trunk of an enormous evergreen. She leaned back against it, heedless of what the rough bark might do to the wool of her coat, and watched her partner look up along the height of the tree.

“Many eastern Native American tribes call the red cedar the Tree of Life,” he said softly and she smiled, knowing that she was about to be treated to one of his patented presentations on some less-common knowledge he possessed. He often did this at work. Sometimes they were hard to take seriously; most of the time they captured her attention and made her think. It was often the way he lured her into a case. Right now, though, she believed he was trying to take her mind off less pleasant things. She welcomed the distraction.

“Did they?” she encouraged.

“Like sage, tobacco, and sweet grass, cedar is considered a holy medicine that holds great power for purification and healing,” he said, craning his head and eying the thick, dark green canopy above them. She admired the strong, masculine length of his throat before looking up, too. The sound of his voice was comforting as he continued, “The Cherokee believe the Creator made the cedar to hold the protective spirits of their ancestors and that smoke from burning the wood and leaves carries their prayers to the heavens.”

“Do you think it does?” she asked, curious about his personal thoughts beyond his knowledge. She knew his ancestry was Jewish but she didn’t think he’d ever been devout to any particular religion. His faith was in the truth, in whatever form it came to him. She shared that trait with him, in her own way.

“Maybe,” he said and she looked to see him looking at her, his expression thoughtful. “Albert Hosteen used sage in the Blessing Way ceremony for me, but I remember seeing people who had died. My ancestors and others who had played important roles in my search for the truth.”

Dana trembled as a memory surfaced, of a dream she’d had at that time. When she’d feared he was dead and everyone else sure of his fate, she’d seen him in a dream. He’d told her he was coming back to her to continue their search for the truth. And she’d believed.

“I saw you in a similar kind of dream,” she heard herself confess and watched his eyes go wide with surprise. She explained, “It’s how I knew you were alive.”

“You never told me,” he said. 

“I don’t know why that surprises you, Mulder,” she said through a coy smile. “You’ve always known my reticence to believe. And there are often psychological explanations for those kinds of experiences beyond the paranormal or supernatural. Especially with the role the subconscious plays in dreams.”

“But you trusted that dream enough to tell my mother that you thought I would come back,” he said.

“I don’t know that I _consciously_ trusted it, Mulder,” she said softly. “I had a feeling that was present before the dream. I couldn’t grieve you. I had no sense of loss. A part of me never even considered that you might be dead. It just didn’t make sense that you would be dead.” She shook her head and looked down at her boots and the snow surrounding them. “I know the consensus of modern psychology on what I was experiencing but this … it’s hard to explain,” she said with a shrug, not sure if what she was saying even made sense to herself.

“But you believed,” he goaded.

She looked up at him and smiled when she saw the delight in his eyes.

“Yes,” she conceded. “I believed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	5. How's Your Aim?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rare moment of levity for Mulder and Scully...

“You cannot be serious.” 

On the heels of her admission, an incredulous Dana Scully watched her partner begin backing away from her after having just challenged her to a snowball fight, despite his injured arm.

“Why not?” he said in the same tone he used when questioning her refusal to believe aliens were responsible for crop circles or the existence of werewolves.

“Well, you’re hurt for one thing,” she pointed out.

“You do good work, Scully,” he teased as he continued moving away from her, grinning wider with every step. She found herself mirroring the expression.

“Don’t you dare, Mulder. If you tear them again I’ll use staples and skip the local,” she scolded but there was no conviction behind it. She was, predictably, beginning to feed off his excitement. She couldn’t seem to stop herself despite having lost count of the number of times when indulging in that particular weakness on the job had ended poorly for them. Probably because these kinds of moments, outside of cases, were rare.

“Did you know I can throw left-handed?” he threatened playfully.

“Mulder,” she warned one final time, but it came out on a soft laugh as she began her retreat, edging her way around the tree. She walked slowly backward, toward the house.

“Scully,” he parroted and reached down for a handful of snow.

Gleeful. That was the perfect description of his expression as he slowly moulded the snow between his palms.

“How’s your aim with frozen projectiles, Scully?” he teased then lazily took his first shot. 

 _Testing the waters,_ she thought when it landed wide. She had half a mind to show him how good her aim was, using the first rock she could uncover, but she grabbed a handful of snow instead. The doctor in her reasoned it would be less likely to damage him.

“I had two brothers, Mulder. Feel free to extrapolate,” she smirked then proceeded to nail him square in the chest with her snowball. 

Disbelief burst across his features and he looked down at the snow clinging to his t-shirt. He clearly hadn’t thought she’d do it. She laughed out loud, a tremendous giggle that threatened to topple her into the snow.

He saw it, smirked, and issued a warning. 

“You’d best run, G-woman,” he said, then broke into long and surprisingly steady strides toward her. 

Seeing him snag a handful of snow from atop a landscaping rock that he passed, she bolted.

While he had an advantage in terms of over-the-ground speed with his long legs, and his hiking boots would fare better than hers in the slippery terrain, she had the advantage in size. She was a much smaller target.

With that thought in mind, she moved as quickly and carefully as possible toward her mother’s yard, intending to get inside and close the gate behind her. If she could slow him down, she had a chance to find cover and press her advantage. 

Snowballs fell to the left and right of her, a few hit her in the back, one clipped her leg, and another dropped in front of her as she closed the distance, laughing whenever one of his projectiles came close.

Happiness flooded her as she ran. Pure, unadulterated happiness that reminded her of one Saturday morning in their office and their brief wrestling match over a nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle. She had laughed then as she was laughing now, living in the moment with Fox Mulder. It would shock the hell out of most of the people who knew her because it was wholly unprofessional but she embraced it along with the memory of him teaching her to hit baseballs that same evening. 

For all the insanity their lives could entail on any given day, lighthearted moments with him were beyond precious. She held them in her heart to balance the scales against their shared pains and grief.

Glancing over her shoulder, Dana ascertained she had a decent lead on her partner. She shot him a gloating smile then slipped through the gate and quickly latched it behind her.

She immediately sought the best cover option in the yard: the small shed that held her mother’s lawnmower and gardening tools. Once behind it, she quickly made a handful of snowballs, then peeked around the corner to see him coming through the gate. She hurled the first one as soon as he was in the yard and it hit him in the left shoulder.

She giggled and heard him chuckle. Their breaths were visible in curling puffs on the air.

He whizzed a snowball at her in return. She dodged it easily then picked up another round of ammo from her pile and fired again. 

This time he sidestepped and called out to her, “Ha, you missed, FBI-woman!”

“Not this time,” she said under her breath and rushed him with a snowball in each hand. 

The first hit him in the knee, the second hit him right in the crotch. She skidded to an ungraceful stop and covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the peal of laugher that erupted from her. 

His wide-eyed expression quickly dissolved into one of pure, playful evil. 

 _Oh crap_ , she thought when he swiftly reached down for snow and stalked toward her. 

If she could have stopped laughing, she would have been able to avoid him but she was practically bent over with it. He caught up with her easily and shoved the snow down the back of her coat. 

“Mulder!” she shouted as the wet cold hit the back of her neck but she kept moving, her training and muscle memory assuming control. She ducked down and scooped up snow in her right hand while her left reached for his belt, her brain telling her exactly where to put it for greatest effect. 

But even one-armed, he was able to stymie her plans. Before she knew what was happening, he had his good arm around her thighs and was lifting her off the ground.

She would have worried about his injured arm had he not been laughing and trying to toss her over his shoulder. Instead, she reached under his jacket and stuffed the snow down the back of his pants. 

“Damn it!” he shouted and lost his grip on her. She slid partially down the front of his body but he didn’t let her feet reach the ground. She looked at him and saw him grinning ear-to-ear, his eyes bright with happiness. 

“Put me down,” she told him through her own grin.

When he didn’t, she licked his forehead, from between his brows up to his hairline. 

In apparent shock, he dropped her unceremoniously on her ass then collapsed down into the snow beside her, his laughter loud and clear and blending with hers on the cold air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	6. A Mother's Joy, A Brother's Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this part says it all...

Margaret Scully's heart fluttered at the sight of her daughter laughing and smiling without restraint.

She couldn’t remember the last time Dana was so outwardly carefree. She was usually bottled up, remote even, but right now, she was laying flat on her back in the snow with her partner beside her, both of them laughing.

Margaret had always liked Fox Mulder and loved him at times. At this moment, she adored him for the joy he brought her daughter.

Standing at the window of the breakfast nook, with Tara and Bill behind her at the table, Margaret was beside herself with her own happiness. She blinked back tears as she watched Dana crawl over to her partner, say something, and then both of them dissolve into laughter again, Dana burying her face in Fox’s chest.

“She’s making a fool of herself.”

Margaret looked sharply at her son who had joined her at the window. “She’s happy, Bill. Let her be happy.”

“Well, she can be happy with someone else, not that … crackpot.”

Margaret sighed and wished Father McCue had stayed. She had talked to him once about the discord between her children over Fox. The priest had listened to her distress over the situation but told her it was best to let them work it out between them since they were adults. Perhaps if he’d witnessed it, though, she thought maybe he might have _some_ guidance to offer.

As it was, Bill’s anger with Fox was bordering on unreasonable after so many years and especially when it was clear Dana was fully invested in the partnership and friendship.

Margaret did not know everything Dana and her partner had been through over the years – Dana was careful not to share too much, likely to not scare Margaret out of her wits – but it had bound the pair deeply. Her daughter’s acute sense of loyalty was ironclad where Fox was concerned and impervious to outside attacks –  _any_ outside attack. Margaret knew that Bill, no matter how hard he tried, would never be able to cajole her into leaving her partner, even if it cost her the relationship with her brother. Margaret was dismayed at the possibility and that Bill didn’t see the danger. She knew Dana did, which is why her daughter held her tongue.

“Leave it alone, Bill, please,” Margaret pleaded with her son. “You don’t see her often. You see him even less. Let her have her happiness where she finds it.”

“And what about Melissa?” he said, his tone a sharp as a razor blade. “What about her happiness?”

“Bill–”

“Seriously, Mom, when’s the last time someone considered where Melissa would be now if Dana hadn’t gotten involved with this guy? Does she feel at least a little guilty about sticking with him after what he’s cost this family? Does she hold him responsible at all?”

Where Margaret’s heart had been uplifted minutes ago, it was now locked in a vise. Her son’s anguish was real, as real as her daughter’s happiness, as real as Margaret’s grief for all her children. She couldn’t dismiss any of it out of hand. They were all valid feelings. But Margaret believed Melissa would not have her sister be miserable or her brother so distressed, and she would not have her mother torn between her children. 

Margaret reminded Bill of that.

“Do you really think Melissa would blame Dana for something she could not foresee, or even Fox?” Margaret asked her son. “She liked him, Bill. She never questioned his place in Dana’s life and she was never one to hold a grudge. She loved freely and forgave freely. She would want Dana to be happy, in whatever form it came.”

Margaret watched a myriad of emotions play across her son’s face, hoping and praying that he would find understanding. But he didn’t. His expression hardened instead and he walked away, accusing under his breath, “We can’t exactly ask her, can we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	7. In Firelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he watches his partner in firelight, an enchanted Mulder reflects on their past and what she means to him.

_FBI Special Agent Dana Katharine Scully, M.D., is a beautiful woman._

It wasn’t a new observation for Fox Mulder. When the petite, red-haired spitfire showed up in his basement office nearly seven years ago, he’d noticed. And he’d noticed countless times since, in the office, out in the field, in her apartment, in his, in hospitals and, surprisingly, morgues. And in places no one would believe. 

In the belly of an alien mothership? Yeah, even then. 

That was the first time Mulder had seen _all_ of her, but circumstances being what they were, taking a truly appreciative look would had been impossible not to mention a total dick move. Being a visual guy, like most men, he was proud of himself for not thinking of it at the time and was okay with that part of her being an unfinished sketch. He wondered, though, if that would change one day. 

Last night’s kiss hadn’t earned him a right hook, left jab, roundhouse kick to the solar plexus, or drop-kick to the groin, any of which he could have reasonably expected. She’d kissed him back instead and again later, making him think that there might be a chance to fill in the details of that drawing sometime in the future. But only time would tell if they would take the step toward sexual intimacy. He wasn’t going to worry about it until they found themselves at the juncture, if they ever did.

Moving quietly across the room, Mulder eased himself down on the floor beside the fireplace, near Scully, who was slowly brushing out her hair. They had come in from outside a short bit ago, clothing soaked and teeth chattering, and since taken hot showers to warm up.

Their clothes were in the dryer so she wore the comfortable attire she always carried in her _go-bag_ – sweats, an oversize t-shirt, and thick socks that negated the need for house-shoes. He’d seen that ensemble often when on the road, as they camped out in one of their rooms and discussed their case over hot pizza or some other unhealthy meal.

As for him, he was currently wearing a pair of her brother’s sweats and a t-shirt emblazoned with NAVY. To say that Bill Scully didn’t like that was an understatement but Mulder would gladly give them back once his jeans were out of the dryer. He didn’t like being beholden to Bill Scully any more than the man liked being generous with him.

His partner glanced at him as he settled and gave him a little smile before returning her attention to the flames. Mulder glanced at them but his brain continued to find his partner more interesting.

Maybe it was because he could see little sign of the grief he knew she carried. Or maybe it was the happiness of earlier combined with last night’s kiss but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her.

He had noted minutes ago that her skin was almost golden in the firelight but now that he was closer, he could clearly see the dusting of freckles and the small mole on her upper lip that she usually concealed with cosmetics. He decided that he liked seeing her without the makeup. 

While hers was always tastefully done, with the occasional bold lipstick that kicked it up a notch, au naturel Scully was an earth-mother. Being able to see her without that professional woman warpaint, he felt like he was being let in on some extra-special secret. An infinitely better one than any global conspiracy could hope to conceal. 

She was his constant and touchstone, his friend and partner, and something truly indefinable. He would be lost without her and had been when Diana reentered his life. 

He didn't know what he’d been thinking in shutting Scully out at a time when trust and truth had been more critical than ever. Why the hell she’d bothered with him after he repeatedly ignored her warnings, he didn’t know. He’d been dismissive, distant, and a Grade-A dick. 

She should have left him and never looked back. She probably should have shot him again. But true to everything that defined her and their partnership, she had been loyal instead and managed to save his sorry ass from that cigarette smoking bastard, Diana, and himself. Especially himself.

Looking at her now, he felt like a real ass. She had deserved better from him. She’d paid too many personal prices already – her sister, her ability to have a child, Emily. She had narrowly survived cancer and yet she had put her life and career on the line to find a cure for the madness consuming his mind. She’d secretly traveled to Africa to investigate that mysterious spacecraft, seeing things that she could not reconcile and desperately sure that they were meant for them both to put it all together.

He’d been at the mercy of others while she was gone, his mind on the verge of exploding as he absorbed the thoughts of everyone around him. From the hospital staff’s ordinary personal and professional concerns, to Skinner’s fears and frustration, to the conflicted loyalties of Diana, to her betrayal and his mother’s. It had been too much input. Like standing directly in front of the speakers at a rock concert, he had been subjected to a cacophony of sound that had no discernible composition. And yet, that discordant noise had been a sweet symphony compared to the deafening silence that had come from the place in his mind where Scully’s thoughts were supposed to be. He had craved to touch her cool, logical mind, believing he would find comfort there. He had been infuriated when he realized they were keeping her from him, then terrified when he realized no one knew where she was.

When she’d finally come, he had been unable to speak to her but he’d heard her racing thoughts. He’d seen what she’d seen in Africa. He’d felt her wonder and confusion, buried beneath a mountain of worry for him and a singular, consuming fear that she would fail him now when he needed her most. She’d begged him to hold on, still determined to try, to find a way, her beautifully ordered mind already working the problem before she even left his bedside.

Diana may have provided the tangible things Scully needed to understand what was happening to him and to effect his rescue, but it had been Scully’s resolve, her commitment to the truth, and to him, that had saved his life. She had kept the faith where he had faltered and he was ashamed.

His gaze returning to the fireplace, Mulder resolved to take time to examine his behavior during those events because he knew he had hurt her deeply. She’d said nothing about it and he doubted she would ever bring it up. That’s not how she did things, and she had a tendency to forgive him everything, eventually, just as he did her. 

Unconditional love. It could endure a great deal and was exceedingly rare. He never wanted to lose hers or drive her from him. The thought of that was enough to stop his heart cold in his chest.

“Are you okay?”

At her question, he realized he was frowning. He looked at her and saw she was frowning, too, at him, and was no longer brushing her hair.

“Yeah,” he said, letting the expression fall away and one corner of his mouth quirk up. “I’m just tired,” he said and it wasn’t a lie.

“That’s the hydrocodone,” she said, then added playfully, “And running around like a 10-year-old at your age.”

“What about your age, Scully?”

She smiled. “I’m younger than you.”

He sometimes forgot that and was prepared to give a witty retort when her brother entered the room. He swallowed it even as his rebellious streak weighed in, proposing he lean over and kiss her instead. He told it to shut up, no wanting to find out which of the Scully siblings would kill him first if he went through with that suggestion.

“We’ll head out as soon as our clothes are dry,” Scully said softly as her brother dropped into the chair behind her. The man openly glared at Mulder, as expected, apparently thinking his sister wouldn’t know. But she knew, which amused the hell out of Mulder. And she knew that, too.

The slight uptick of her right eyebrow and momentarily vexed glance were the perfect examples of the non-verbal communication they had developed over the years. It was handy on cases and in the presence of their superiors – much to those superiors’ chagrin. 

_They had no idea what they were doing when they sent her to the basement_ , he thought. They could not have predicted how it would change them both, unite them on his quest, or how it would inexorably bind them to each other.

“How’s it feel?” she asked, her features smoothing as she nodded toward his arm. “Any pain?”

“It’s fine,” he said, glancing down. She had wrapped it the same way as last night before his shower and this time her handiwork managed to keep out all the water. The bandage only had a little bit of blood but the rust brown color of it indicated it wasn’t fresh. 

In automatic commiseration, he glanced at her neck and noticed that the scratches looked about the same as earlier, certainly no worse for wear from their snowball fight. 

“I trust your needlework,” he said, gaze flickering back up to hers.

She blushed at his compliment, a rare reaction from his usually unflappable partner. He relished it and would have commented on it if her brother hadn’t been in the room. But he was and Mulder resented the loss of the companionable silence of minutes ago, even when his thoughts had been troublesome.

Scully’s expression said she was feeling something similar. Commiseration was another thing they were able to do, most of the time. He suspected she was also as ready as he was to blow this popsicle stand. He wondered if she was interested in getting a pizza somewhere or putting her feet up at her place or his with a movie and takeout. Or if maybe she just wanted to go home, take a bath, and turn in for the night.

While she returned to brushing her hair and staring into the fire, Mulder stared at his bare feet and tried ignore the feeling he might be shivved before they got out of there. He found himself grateful that he couldn’t do that mind-reading thing anymore because he really did not want to know what vitriol was swimming around in her brother’s head.

He made it a few more minutes in the tense silence before he had to move. He told Scully he was going to check on their clothes then stood and left the room. It wasn’t but a few seconds later, before he was even out of earshot, when Bill Scully launched his campaign.

The man had apparently had enough. 

But so had Scully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	8. Sister & Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not wise to piss off Dana Scully...

“You embarrassed yourself today.”

Dana lowered her hairbrush and sighed. She looked over her shoulder and fixed her brother with a beleaguered look. She debated on telling him to shove his big brother disapproval card right up his ass or to take the bug out, whichever would make him stop being a jerk. She’d more than had it with the haughty, disappointed looks he’d been shooting her direction all day, not to mention the scowls and glares at Mulder. In the end, though, she chose to cut to the chase.

“I’m not leaving him, Bill. He’s my partner and my friend.”

Bill pushed himself up from the chair and walked around in front of her. “Your lover?”

Dana rolled her eyes at this new volley. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.”

Her calm tone apparently set him on edge. His face twisted into a mask of almost comical frustration and she watched the muscles of his jaw flex. When he finally spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“Then why, Dana? Why choose him over your family?”

“Only you think that I do, Bill,” she shot back, then asked, “Why does it have to be an either or proposition for you?”

His voice raised with his response, “You know why.” 

“Dana? Bill?” 

The worried voice of their mother was soft but carried across the living room. She was clearly distressed and looking back and forth between her children. Behind her, Tara stood biting her bottom lip and casting a questioning look at Bill.

Instinctively, hoping to ease her mother, Dana stood and went to her. She wrapped her in a hug, apologized, and made a decision to curb things with Bill before things grew heated. “It’s okay. Mulder and I are going.”

“You don’t have to,” her mother said, her voice strained with emotion like it always was when she and Bill got into it. 

Dana flashed her mother a gentle smile when she drew back. “It’s better that we do,” she said softly, “I’ll call you later.”

Dana had barely taken her first step toward the laundry room when Bill took his next shot.

“Running out on us again, with him?” he sniped.

Dana drew in a deep breath then turned to face her brother square-on. 

“You just won’t let this go will you,” she said and it wasn’t a question. She laid down the gauntlet. “Alright, if you really want to do this, then let’s do it. Let’s get it all out in the open because I’m tired of it and we need to stop doing this to Mom. It’s unfair and she doesn’t deserve it.”

“This isn’t about Mom. This is about you and why you continue to put your life on the line for a man who clearly doesn’t mind putting you or our family in harm’s way to chase the boogeyman. Just look at your neck, Dana! Where was he when that happened?”

Dana really didn’t want to dignify the question with an answer. She considered telling him the truth – _trapped in a basement with zombies_ – just to piss him off but decided to tell him something he _should_ take seriously.

“He was doing his job, Bill. And I was doing mine. No one was negligent.”

Bill took a step toward her, his face hardening.

“I know other FBI agents, Dana. Very few of them have ever drawn their gun outside of the shooting range but every time I see you or hear from mom, something’s happened to you. You’ve been shot, attacked, or held hostage by some psycho. Or you’ve shot or killed someone. That is not normal. Your partner is not normal. Do you have any idea what they call him? _Spooky Mulder,_ ” he sneered.

If the situation wasn’t so serious, Dana would have laughed at that last dig. She wondered what her brother would think about what they called her in the hallways of Quantico and the Hoover Building. She wondered if he would change his opinion of Mulder if he knew the nickname stemmed from her partner’s uncanny criminal profiling skills and not the X-Files. But she wasn’t going to get into that.

“Is the Bureau’s rumor mill your only source of information, Bill?”

“Where else would I get it? You never tell us anything and most of the cases you work are classified. All I know is the man believes in monsters, crazy conspiracies, and little green men, and that you follow him blindly.”

Dana flushed hot with anger _and_ worry. If he was worried about the family at all, he wouldn’t touch those cases.

“You tried to access our cases?” she fumed, letting him see her concern, too, even though she knew he would misinterpret it as embarrassment over big brother finding out what she did for a living. As if she was secretly a hooker working Dupont Circle.

“What else was I supposed to do? I have a right to know what sort of danger he gets you into.”

Dana’s heart-rate skyrocketed and her anger went along for the ride.

“First, you have no _right_ digging into my life, personal or professional, no matter what your worries or suspicions are about me, my job, or my partner,” she glared at him. “Second, and more importantly, there’s a reason why those cases are classified. There are things that are dangerous for you to know.”

“Which is my point exactly,” Bill shouted. “He’s dragged you into this dark and crazy little world of his and our family has paid the price. You’re still paying it.” He gestured to her neck again, which only angered her further.

“Mulder has paid his own price, Bill, and he will continue to pay it because he believes in what we’re doing. I share his belief, but I do not follow him blindly. We are both very aware of what we risk every day and I will not let him risk it alone. That should tell you something about me, and him.”

Bill scoffed, “Still his great defender.”

“Yes, _still_. Always,” she declared. “I have his back and he has mine. It’s what partners do. Damn it, Bill, it’s what soldiers and sailors do.”

At the mention of his chosen career, his expression dissolved into one of condescension. 

“Sailors and soldiers take an oath to serve their country, Dana. Against real enemies, not Martians and things that go bump in the night.”

“I have taken a similar oath, Bill, several in fact,” she countered sharply. “I placed my hand on a Bible and swore to serve the cause of justice with the FBI. I have taken a personal oath as a scientist to pursue truth and enlightenment. I have taken the oath of a physician to care for the sick. And I have taken an oath to God to do what good I can in this world.”

“Then do that. Go do good as a doctor,” her brother interrupted, running his hand through his short-cropped hair in obvious frustration. “Join a hospital or open a private practice. Go back to teaching and find a good man and worthy cause to swear yourself to instead of digging deeper into his delusions.”

Dana glared at her brother, her jaw clenching. Who the hell did he think he was to believe he could tell her how to live her life? He certainly had no idea who she was or he wouldn’t have taken things _there_.

She was not the little girl he knew growing up, whom he could pick on and push around. She was no longer a medical student on the fence about her career, wanting desperately to pursue the unexpected path offered her while fearing becoming the family disappointment. 

No. She was a grown woman who’d faced down cancer and endured the loss of a child. She was a seasoned FBI field agent who’d been abducted and subjected to unspeakable experiments that left her barren. She’d been kidnapped by a death fetishist who was the embodiment of evil, and fought off in her own home a man with an insatiable hunger for human livers who could squeeze himself into just about any space. Dozens of bullets had been fired at her. She’d been beaten, burned, and cut. And she’d given as good as she got, including standing her ground against a global conspiracy of men in collusion with an alien force. She’d even defied the United States Congress.

No, William Scully, Jr. did not scare or intimidate her in the slightest. She loved him but he’d just stepped into a minefield and was in for a very rude awakening if he thought he could bully her into believing he knew what was best for her or make her do what he wanted. 

She conceded that he _could_ legitimately hang his concerns on his anger over Melissa’s death and the continued endangerment of Dana’s life, or that he was just looking out for her as her big brother, but the truth of the matter was this particular campaign was textbook, Misogyny 101 taught deliberately if not subconsciously to men the world over. It was something she was all too familiar with as a woman who regularly navigated the hallowed halls of the esteemed boy’s club called the FBI.

She shook her head at him, her blood boiling and her tone carefully controlled with precise, whip-sharp diction when she replied.

“I understand you would choose something different for me, Bill. That you think I have made mistakes in my choice of career and loyalty and am continuing to do so. But what I do with _my_ life is _my_ choice. My career, how I spend my time, who I spend it with, and who deserves my loyalty, those are things you don’t get a say in.”

“What about Mom?” Bill tried but Dana shook her head again, resisting the urge to look at her mother.

“No,” she said firmly. “I have promised to always hear her out but the final choice is and always will be mine. And if it’s the wrong one, then I take the blame. Me. It will not be scapegoated onto Mulder.”

Bill set his hands at his waist and sneered. “So I should blame you for Melissa’s death?”

Dana had known that one was coming one day but it still hurt to hear it. She let him see that and her anger.

“Don’t you already, Bill? You laid it on Mulder out of the gate but let’s face it, he was a convenient target. You could potentially hate him to the end of time without real consequence. But me … if you had put it on me at the beginning, where you really wanted to, along with the guilt-trip about carrying on the family name, while I was dying of cancer no less, then it would have made you a complete and utter bastard, which is what you aren’t prepared to live with.”

He was the one who flinched this time and her mother gasped behind her but Dana didn’t stop.

“Still, you’re trying to _protect_ me, from myself and Mulder,” she said, “You may think it’s the right thing to do. Or maybe you believe it’s your duty with Dad gone but it _is not_ your place to decide what is right for me any more than it would have been Dad's. You do not get to steer my life into safer waters because that’s where you want me to be. I’ve chosen my course with Mulder not in rebellion, out of hysteria or a misplaced or naive sense of loyalty, but after careful consideration of facts in evidence and first-hand experience with things that have irrevocably opened my eyes.”

Bill shook his head. “You try to sound so reasonable, Dana, but it’s crap and just plain sad that you’ve been duped into believing the garbage this guy peddles. You’re smarter than that.”

Dana responded with lethal seriousness.

“I have seen things that I cannot explain or deny. I have witnessed things that would and should terrify every living thing that walks the earth. I have actually held in my hands evidence that calls into question the very foundations of science, all faiths, and the very reason for our existence. You can call Mulder a crackpot. You can call me a liar. You can dismiss everything I have said and continue to nurse your grudge, but _you_ will _never_ sway me from my course. Our sole mission is the pursuit of truth, Bill. We seek the answers to questions people don’t even know they should be asking.”

“For what purpose, Dana?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you aren’t ready to hear it,” she told him plainly. “If you can’t accept and respect my right to make my own choices then you will never accept the truths I know. I don’t blame you for that. I was an extremely reluctant convert. As a doctor, scientist, and FBI agent, I was intensely skeptical from the very beginning and remain so until there is reason to be otherwise. I’ve argued the other side against Mulder so much I’m surprised he still talks to me but I’ve experienced too much to bury my head in the sand. I no longer have that luxury.”

Bill scoffed. “You make it sound like you’re on a mission to stop the world from ending.”

Dana raised an eyebrow even as she continued to stare down her much taller and larger sibling. “And what if we are?”

“Jesus, Dana! Do you hear yourself? Do you know how delusional that sounds?” he shouted. “It was the same thing with that little girl. You were so desperate to be her savior–”

Dana’s recoiled as if she had been slapped then went completely still as a wave of grief-fueled rage overrode any pity, mercy, or affection she had for her brother in that moment. She was done.

“This conversation is over,” she seethed with cold fury then turned to find her partner right where she knew he would be, dressed in his own clothes and ready to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	9. Leaving the Field

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder is always her partner...

_Get me the hell out of here._

Even if Mulder had only met Scully five minutes ago, he would have been able to read the expression on her face when she turned around. Her features were perfectly composed within seconds of telegraphing that message, now almost expressionless, but her clear blue eyes still radiated rage. He’d seen _that_ look make grown men look for an exit or pray the earth opened up and swallowed them whole. 

Her reputation as Ice Queen was well-earned and accurate, though not in the way it was usually meant. She was not a cold person but she was level-headed, no-nonsense, and cool under pressure. Even her wrath ran cold, not hot. As in bitter, biting cold, the kind of cold that was sharp on contact then went straight to the bone and set up camp for days as a unrelenting, burning ache. No one in their right mind volunteered for that experience. 

_Except her brother apparently._

Mulder hoped the man got an extremely slow-healing case of frostbite. Her brother was lucky she didn’t have her gun because she looked upset enough to shoot somebody. Mulder wanted to shoot the man himself. Maybe wing him like she had him that time. Just miss the mark and hit something quite a bit lower than the shoulder. Maybe somewhere in the groin area. 

But this was Scully’s battle and she didn’t need Mulder to fight it for her; she would probably shoot _him_ if he tried. He was her partner, though, and would back her up if needed, however she needed. Right now, she appeared to want his help in leaving the field of victory. 

_No, not victory. There is no victor in this sort of battle._

Misogyny in the Scully family had definitely just taken a huge kick to the balls but the retaliation had been the lowest of blows imaginable – just days before the second anniversary of Emily’s death, no less. And her brother knew it, as did her mother and sister-in-law. The two women were watching with their hands covering their mouths and tears either falling or threatening. Her brother looked deflated but not nearly repentant enough for Mulder’s liking. 

Mulder regarded the man with open disdain and silently dared him to say or do something, anything that would give him a reason to screw up Scully’s stitches in his arm. He wasn’t usually a fisticuffs guy. He got his ass kicked more often than he kicked ass but a very primal part of him would gladly oblige if the opportunity presented itself. Scully might not need him to champion her, but he would happily help take out the trash without being asked.

Everything Scully did after walking away from her brother was done with swift economy and without a word spoken, telling him just how deeply she was hurting beneath her anger.

She took the _go-bag_ when he offered it and went upstairs to change. Her brother thankfully left the room before she came back down and put on her boots. No one tried to reach out to her when she shrugged on her coat, concealing the gun clipped at the small of her back. They only watched when she opened the front door. 

He followed her out, pausing only to nod at her mother when she said his name softly. Her request was clear: _Take care of her._

He would, as much as his fiercely independent partner would let him. She could close herself off faster than anyone he’d ever known. And while any number of things could cause her to withdraw, this particular pain almost guaranteed it. She had shut him out before over it and it had taken several days before she’d been willing to engage with him in anything beyond surface pleasantries.

They were in a different place now but he knew she still might shut him out and the silence might last for minutes, hours, days, or weeks. There was no way to know. One thing was certain, though, he would let her do what she needed because there was no way he could push her into talking. The woman could seal up tighter than an oyster. The full-might of the U.S. Congress hadn’t even made a dent in her resolve.

But a child calling her name…

Mulder’s heart took up residence in his stomach when he heard her nephew call out for his Aunt Dana. They had been almost to the car when that little voice came clear and excited across the cold air.

_Shit._

Looking back, Mulder saw she hadn’t turned around yet but she had shut her eyes and was taking steadying breaths. It was gut-wrenching to watch her carefully dismantle her already cracking defensive armor to put on a different mask, that of loving aunt. It was even harder to watch her turn and meet the boy on the porch.

It took everything in Mulder to not reach out and hug her when she came back with a drawing the boy had given her. She studiously avoided looking Mulder in the eye as she handed him the car keys and asked him if he could drive. 

He took them, arm be damned, and she slid into the passenger seat while he tossed her _go-bag_ and medical kit in the trunk.

Neither of them said a word when he climbed in behind the wheel. He noted the drawing was on the dash and she was staring down at her hands in her lap. Tears hadn’t fallen yet, but he knew they would. The question was would she let herself cry in his presence. 

Sometimes she did; sometimes she didn’t. He kept his mouth shut and started the engine.

They were about a half-mile away from her mother’s house, along a stretch with no homes or other structures on the roadside, when she told him to stop the car. He did and she quickly unbuckled the belt and scrambled out. He watched through the open door as she walked several feet away and vomited.

_Shit._

He looked ahead to give her privacy as she wretched up the remains of lunch until she was dry-heaving. He cringed because it sounded like it hurt but he kept his eyes on the road.

When she got back in, she dug around in the glovebox and found some leftover takeout napkins he’d stowed there. She wiped her mouth then closed the door and re-secured her seatbelt.

He drove on once she was ready, letting the silence remain. He wanted to say something comforting but he waited for her, trusting she would give him some indication that she wanted him to talk or she’d say something.

If he’d placed bets on the latter, he would have won. But there was no way he would have won a bet on what she would say because it was the last thing he’d ever thought he’d hear from her.

“Take me somewhere I can get drunk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	10. A Drink or Two or ... ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder fulfills Scully's request...

Scully was a happy drunk. She giggled freely and was a shameless flirt. 

For the last several hours, Mulder had been watching her loosen up as the alcohol did what she’d apparently wanted it to. He had never seen her quite like this, although it was similar to the way she’d been the day of their batting practice. 

Cheeky, impish, and boisterous. Her laugh, especially. He liked it.

Mulder was captivated as this new aspect of her emerged, one she clearly kept well under wraps. He doubted she’d done anything like it in years. She was too smart to not have known what world she’d entered after finishing her undergrad degree. Med school and the FBI were both worlds dominated by men who didn’t have much appreciation for women on the whole, especially ones that treaded into their playground and demanded equality. The Bureau in particular frowned upon the conduct in which she was currently engaged.

The bar wasn’t crowded but there were enough people around that she had an audience and if something should go awry and word got back to anyone at the Bureau, well, it wouldn’t be good. That was one reason he was glad she hadn’t ditched him to do this alone. The other reason was the intrigued eyes that kept straying her direction whenever she’d let out a particularly delighted giggle.

Just now, Mulder sipped his iced tea as he watched her flash her baby blues at the married bartender and order another round of tequila shooters. Where he had stopped after his second beer, she was still committed to literally drowning her sorrows. He would have to entice her away from it soon so she’d at least be able to walk to the car. With his bum arm, he couldn’t carry her safely and he’d be damned if he let anyone else try to _help_ her in her current condition. 

He might not interfere in the conflict with her brother but he had no problem sending possessive glares at any men who approached her. He had already flashed his gun at a couple of yahoos who hadn’t taken the hint, just casually easing the lapel of his black leather jacket back enough for them to see the shiny Sig Sauer sitting nice and reachable in its holster. Her gun was clipped at his lower back. She’d given it to him when they got out of the car and he hadn’t asked why. And she hadn’t asked why he’d left the sling in the car.

Seeing another would-be Romeo approach her now, Mulder moved from the barstool perpendicular to hers and resumed his previous place at her side. She quickly rerouted her flirty attentions to him, where they’d been aimed most of the night. Nothing racy or even sexually suggestive, just teasing and a bit physical, though not inappropriate. She just touched him from time to time, his hand, his good arm, his chest, or leaned close to him when he was beside her, almost as if she was reassuring herself of his presence.

Just now, she bumped her shoulder against him and asked him to have a shot with her, giving him the most adorable pout he was sure he’d ever seen. He ignored it and smiled at her.

“One of us has to be able to drive,” he said and she batted her eyelashes at him. 

“Wouldn’t it be better than a shot _at_ you, Mulder?” she said then laughed low in her throat. He loved that honeyed-whiskey sound. He had not heard it before tonight and it made him want to think things he shouldn’t be thinking, which was another reason he’d stopped at two beers.

“Undoubtedly,” he answered and she laughed again before turning and downing the waiting shot. 

He loved the faces she made when she licked the salt, then downed the tequila, then sucked the juice out of the lime wedge. But he liked best the look of satisfaction that came when the tequila heated her stomach. His eyes took in every minute detail of her expression and he smiled at her when she looked up at him again.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded then her smile drifted away and her gaze fixed on him.

“I want to go home with you,” she said softly but there was no sign of the lust that statement usually implied when asked in a bar after too many drinks. It made him wonder why, but she answered the question before he could ask, sliding her cellphone across the bar to him.

_Eleven missed calls. Probably from brother and/or mother._

Mulder frowned at the small screen until her hand covered it. He met her gaze and realized she wasn’t _quite_ as wasted as she appeared. A shadow of unmistakeable sadness passed over her features and his heart broke for her.

“I’ll take the couch,” she said, drawing the lines for him, in case he was wondering. 

He wasn’t and drew his own lines. “You’ll take the bed, Scully.”

In response, she leaned her head against his chest and he felt her tremble when he laid his hand on her shoulder. When she stayed that way for several minutes, he began to worry. He rubbed his thumb soothingly across the edge of her shoulder-blade and asked her if she was ready to go.

She nodded, sat up, and dismounted the stool. He helped her with her coat, and she accepted his hand when he offered it. They made it to the car with only a staggering step here and there, and then up to his apartment when they reached his building.

Like earlier, she’d been silent the whole way, reality apparently descending now that she was away from the freeing atmosphere of the bar. He suspected she would be sick again and was made a prophet not long after they were inside.

He picked up her _go-bag_ , which she’d dropped halfway to his bedroom, and deposited it on his bed while she threw up the alcohol he’d paid for. He would have considered it a waste of money if it’d been anyone else but her.

He wasn’t surprised when he heard the shower start up or her tentatively ask about the bag.

“It’s on the bed,” he said then announced he was going to get her some water. If what he thought had happened _had happened_ , then she wouldn’t want him to see it, so he headed to the kitchen after setting their firearms on his dresser.

In an almost reverse situation from the night before, he prepped the nightstand for her with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin he found in the cabinet next to the fridge. He turned on the lamp and the overhead light off then tried to straighten the covers out for her. When he heard the water shut off, he quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. When she came out of the bathroom, she wore the same clothing she’d had on earlier.

He wondered if that bothered her. People sometimes associated the clothing they were wearing at the time of tragedy or traumatic events with the experience and felt the need to get rid of them. Then he told his psychologist training to take a backseat and let her friend take the wheel for anything that happened from here forward.

“You feeling better?”

She looked entirely abashed as she opened her bag and pulled out bedclothes.

“I’m sorry,” she said then sighed, “I really did end up embarrassing myself.”

“Not with me,” Mulder assured her, adding,” and you had more admirers in that bar than disapprovers.”

She blushed, which was a feat since her skin was already a rosy hue from the shower. She set the clothing aside and sighed.

He apologized for the state of the covers as she sat on the bed. “I would have changed the sheets for you–”

“It’s fine, Mulder,” she said then leaned forward and buried her head in her hands. 

“God, I feel awful,” she said then ran her palms over her face.

He sat beside her, said softly, “Just wait till morning.”

She groaned then seemed to drift. If it weren’t for the tension in her shoulders, he would have thought her on the verge of falling asleep and begun planning to catch her before she fell face first on his floor.

After several minutes of her staring at the unremarkable carpet of his bedroom, she spoke, her voice soft but strained.

“Am I responsible for Melissa’s death?”

Mulder inwardly winced at the question. He’s always suspected she blamed herself even though she had never extensively talked with him about that loss, or that it could have been her instead. He knew she sometimes talked with the Bureau social worker Karen Kosseff but he wasn’t sure Scully would have addressed this issue with her, considering who was involved and why. Either way, he knew the answer the counselor would have given her and it’s the same one he had. 

“Scully, the only people responsible for your sister’s death are the men who pulled the trigger and the men who sent them.”

She sat up and curled her hands in her lap, her gaze now fixed on something across the room. She wore an intense frown and he knew she was working over his words in her mind. She didn’t like whatever thought came to her. Her brow further creased and she glanced at him.

“But aren’t I? I called her that night.”

“That doesn’t make you responsible, Scully. You couldn’t have known.”

“I was warned, Mulder,” she said, her eyes glassy, almost pleading with him to give her absolution from her own strict convictions. “I was told someone would try to kill me.”

Mulder sighed and reached for one of her hands. She let him take it and he held it gently as he spoke. “That still doesn’t make you responsible, Scully. These men who killed her, who gave you cancer and took your ability to have children, who made Emily, they set all of it in motion. They played with people’s lives. They brought children into this world with no plans for them to be loved and orchestrated deaths to hide their crimes, to hide the truth. You bear no guilt in those things.”

“Bill thinks I do.”

“Scully, your brother’s a dick,” he said bluntly.

To his surprise, she laughed a little then blinked back her tears. She stared at the floor again and whispered words that made him want to throttle Bill Scully within an inch of his life.

“Mulder, what he said about Emily…”

 _Was reprehensible_ , Mulder thought when her voice trailed off in a rushed exhale.

“I don’t understand why he would he say that, Mulder. He was there. He saw the PCR results.” 

She sounded bewildered and it confused him as well.

“I don’t know, Scully,” Mulder said. “He’s either chosen to ignore the evidence or talked himself out of believing it. Or maybe he lashed out with what he knew would wound you most deeply.”

She looked devastated at the thought. Mulder wished he knew what more he could do to help her beyond hold her hand, but he was grateful for that connection. She could just as easily call a cab and leave, or send him off to the couch for the night and ponder these questions alone in the dark. So he waited and listened and tried not to let his own heart break when she spoke with a thin, hoarse voice.

“I don’t dream of her anymore,” she said. “Ever since that case with the girls. She wanted me to let her go. And I let her go. And I don’t even know if it was her I saw.”

Mulder didn’t know what to say. As much as she had trouble accepting his theories on aliens and vampires, a part of him had always been resistant to many of the aspects of her faith. He’d feared at the time that she was letting her own grief bleed into the case and questioned her perspective. He’d said as much to her and this was the first time she’d mentioned it since.

“I know you miss her,” he finally said in hopes of comforting her.

She shook her head, rejecting the assertion. 

“No, I don’t think that’s true,” she said then looked at him. Only one of her tears had fallen. He resisted the urge to reach out and wipe it away.

“I didn’t really know her, Mulder,” she continued. “I was just a person who came into her life for a few days. I never had a chance to be a mother to her. I could only treat her as a doctor who desperately wanted to be the mother she deserved,” she said, then added wearily, “Bill was right about that part at least.”

“Scully…”

“It’s okay,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be okay, Mulder”

He nodded, knowing that would be the last she’d talk about it tonight. Those words, or variations of them, were always conversation closers for her, particularly when the subject was personal.

“I know,” he smiled gently then brought their linked hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of hers. 

When he lowered them, he saw her leaning toward him, her eyes on his mouth. He moved and met her for a soft kiss. It was different than the ones last night, communicating her gratitude, and both offered and sought comfort, which he willingly gave.

“Thank you,” she said when she withdrew. 

Opening his eyes, he smiled at her again and caressed her hand. 

“You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	11. A Call to Disarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwanted phone call...

Something startled Dana from a fretful sleep … in an unfamiliar place.

No, not unfamiliar. Just not a place she’d woken up before. Mulder’s apartment. Mulder’s bed.

Her head hurt and her mouth was cottony, reminding her about what she’d done last night. She winced when the phone rang. That’s what woke her, she surmised then groaned when it rang again. She thanked God when the phone stopped. 

She heard Mulder speaking to the caller, just able to make out his words through the small opening he’d left between the door and jamb. When she heard him say “Mrs. Scully” she sighed and debated if she should just let him run interference or if she should handle it herself.

But even as she considered her options, she had already thrown the covers off and was sitting up. Who was she kidding? She never let him run interference, for anything. 

A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand confirmed it was early. Six o’clock in the morning early. She wanted to go back to sleep, until she woke up naturally. She was infinitely glad that it wasn’t a work day. 

Standing slowly, Dana made her way to the living room, ignoring her full bladder in order to spare Mulder any further awkwardness. He was sitting up on the couch, his head bowed, and the receiver of his hard-line phone at his ear. He was running his other hand over his face, his eyes still closed.

“She’s fine, Mrs. Scully,” he was saying into the phone, his voice rough from sleep. “She just needs space to process. You know it’s how she deals with things.”

Dana wanted to kiss him, this time for his laying the groundwork for her part of the call. She touched his shoulder instead and he startled and gazed up at her. He looked still half-asleep. She held out her hand for the phone. 

_I’ll take it_ , she mouthed silently. He gave a quick little nod.

“Hang on, Mrs. Scully, she’s right here.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He accepted her apology with a hint of a smile then stood and gestured to the bedroom. She thanked him for the privacy with a look and accepted the phone as he passed it off. She appreciated the little touch of his fingers to the small of her back as he shuffled his way to the bedroom – and probably the bathroom considering the state of things in his pajama bottoms.

Dana might would have found his sleepy obliviousness amusing if she weren’t bracing herself for a conversation she didn’t want to have. To call Mulder’s looking for her, her mother was either extremely worried and wanted to make sure she was okay, or she was going to lobby on behalf of Bill. 

The first one Dana could deal with even if her pounding head made her resent the hell out of it right now. The second would be harder and probably make the headache worse.

Dropping down into the warm spot on the couch that Mulder had just abandoned, Dana took a deep breath and raised the receiver to her ear.

“I’m fine, Mom,” she said, praying that her mother would let it go at that. She wasn’t much of a meddler so there was a chance – Dana hoped.

From the other end of the line, her mother voiced her worry. _“When you didn’t return my call, I didn’t know what to think, Dana.”_

Dana sighed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t sometimes go weeks without talking to her mother, even though she didn’t live far away. Before Bill had lost it, she’d already told her mom that she was going to call her today and she’d planned to keep that promise. Of course, Bill’s _losing it_ was at the root of her mother’s worry; she knew the damage he’d inflicted. 

Still, Dana thought her mother should have been at least a little comforted to know she was with her partner. They weren’t on a case after all and Mulder, well, her mother knew she trusted him implicitly. He’d had her back last night at that moderately nice bar, faithfully warding off unsolicited attention so she could do what she needed to do.

“I was with Mulder,” she reminded her mother. “You knew that.”

_“I know, but I know how badly Bill_ _–”_

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about it,” Dana cut off her mother but tried to keep her tone as soft as possible. She didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t in the mood to rehash yesterday’s events after a night of replaying them in her dreams. “I just need some time, please.” 

_“He wants to apologize. He’s very upset.”_

“ _He’s_ upset?” Dana snapped but quickly apologized. She hated that her mother was caught up in the conflict with Bill. It wasn’t fair to her, which is what Dana had tried to tell her brother yesterday. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, her tone softer than any she’d used before. “Please know I’m not angry with you. I don’t want you to be in the middle of this.”

_“You are both my children, Dana,”_ her mother’s voice came over the line. _“I can’t help but want things to be right between you.”_

_I know. I know. I know._

Frustrated, Dana stood and walked over to Mulder’s desk where the base of the phone sat. She looked out the window. It had snowed in the night.

“I know, Mom. I don’t want things to be this way but I wasn’t the one who pushed this,” she said more defensively than she’d intended. “I just want space to deal with it.”

Dana scowled as she reached over and opened the blinds all the way. The gray sky was still spitting snow. Cold was seeping in through the window. She shivered but she didn’t know if it was from that cold or her mother’s next words.

_“Will you talk to him?”_

That is the absolute last thing she wanted to do at this moment. She would rather take on that damned zombie again, or be back in that basement, trapped with Mulder and the zombies.

She shook her head even though her mother couldn’t see her. “Not now, Mom. I’m exhausted and I have a case report to write.”

_“Dana,”_ her mother pleaded. 

Dana couldn’t bear the pain in her mother’s voice. It was heart-wrenching and Dana understood why. Charlie had drifted farther and farther from them over the years, caught up with his wife’s family; Melissa was gone; Dad was gone. Naturally, she didn’t want her other children fighting. Which was a big reason why Dana limited her contact with her older brother. 

It always came to this, in varying degrees, and as much as Dana tried to avoid it, Bill found a way. She had no doubt he was standing near their mother now, expectant. She wondered how big of a role he had played in her mother’s worried state this morning, if he’d badgered her to call Mulder.

“Okay,” she conceded and gritted her teeth. God, she did not want to do this but she would, for her mother.

When her brother’s voice came over the line, saying her name, Dana was right back there in her mother’s living room, angry and hurt. She flinched and shut her eyes but found strength from the presence of the man in the room with her. She hadn’t heard him return, but he touched the small of her back again, firmer this time, letting her know he was there. It made a statement when unexpected physical contact didn’t startle her as much as a voice over the phone.

“Bill,” she said with far more equanimity that she’d expected but it was absent any warmth. She simply couldn’t open that door today. 

A hesitation on the other end of the connection suggested that her brother may have picked up on her remoteness. Not that it would come as surprise to any of them. She detested being vulnerable and vulnerable was what her family had the ability to make her feel with surprising ease. She always kept them at a distance to some degree, even her mother. The aversion largely stemmed from their near universal disapproval of her having chosen the FBI over a traditional medical practice. That had hurt far more than she’d ever told them, although her mother had probably guessed.

_“Dana,”_ her brother said again. _“Where were you last night? Mom and I were worried about you.”_

An inquisition right out of the gate, not an ounce of contrition, as if he had a right to the information. Patronizing? Possibly. Either her hangover had dulled her perceptions and rendered her years of investigative training and experience useless, or he really was being a bastard.

“Is that all you have to say?” she asked, beyond irritated.

_“Well, I don’t know where else to start, Dana,”_ he replied and she heard it then. Definitely patronizing.

“How about ‘I respect you and plan to find better ways to show it,’ or ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did,’ or ‘I don’t blame you for Melissa’s death,’ or maybe just start with ‘I’m sorry I was a jerk yesterday’,” Dana replied.

Bill made a scoffing noise.

_That’s it_ , she thought and grabbed the proverbial bull by the horns. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done it – she had to a degree yesterday – and he certainly wasn’t the most powerful person who’d had to reckon with her when she did.

“You’re my brother, Bill, and I love you, but I’m done with whatever it is we’ve been doing. Fighting like this tears mom apart and I won’t be a part of that any more,” she said in a manner that cautioned against argument or interruption. 

“I am also no longer willing to tiptoe around your feelings, not when Mulder and I are the targets of your unwarranted suspicions,” she continued. “You can either accept me as I am and summon up a modicum of respect for the man who has gone quite literally to the ends of the Earth to save my life, or I’ll keep a distance. I’m tired of it and it’s not healthy for any of us to continue this pattern,” she said then unexpectedly softer, pleading, “Bill, you need to get past this, for your own sake, and for the family’s. If you don’t, we’re going to end up causing irreparable damage and I don’t think that’s what you want. I know it’s not what I want. So please, Bill, I’m asking you to find a way.”

The line remained silent when she finished. She could hear tight breathing but there was no verbal response and when there didn’t seem to be one forthcoming, she sighed his name. And still nothing.

“Well, I guess I have my answer,” she said, then carefully placed the handset back into the cradle and slowly sank down to the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	12. Let Her Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

Mulder watched the most amazingly strong person he’d ever known crumple to the floor by his desk.

She was a small woman but she looked positively tiny huddled there, her head leaned against the wood frame, arms wrapped around herself. She felt even smaller when he eased down behind her and put his own arms around her. His embrace practically swallowed her whole and, thankfully, she let it.

He grieved at feeling the shudders wracking her frame and hearing the soft gasps as she attempted not to cry. She was brave to try but he knew where this was headed, to the inconsolable sobs she had emitted not so long ago, on the other side of this very room, lying in a pool of her own blood, with his arms around her. He could hear their births, each growing louder than the next, each clawing at his heart. It was worse than Padgett. 

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against hers and sheltered her with his body, giving her a place to hide, a safe place to be vulnerable. He had never been more glad to be so much bigger than her, even though he despised the reason why he was glad. He hated to see her broken. She was always such a force of nature, so tough that it was always a shock when she fragmented. 

He said nothing, just let her cry it out and ignored the burning in his arm where the stitches were. He didn’t give a damn about those right now. They would hold together, just like she would, if for no other reason than she’d done them. It was a sentimentally indulgent thought but he refused to consider otherwise because she was Scully. He didn’t need any other reason to believe.

When she began to ease, she didn’t shrug him off as he might have expected. Instead she leaned back against him and let her head rest against his upper chest. He gently nuzzled her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, amidst her mussed red tresses. The scent of her shampoo surrounded him. It was warm and delicate. So was she, when she trusted him like this.

He would have held her forever if his injured arm hadn’t started to cramp. He must have made a sound of discomfort because she was suddenly sitting up and glancing at his arm.

“Oh my God, Mulder,” she said, her tone self-chiding.

Mulder released her and sat back on his heels as she turned. _So small._ He couldn’t have made that move in that space. Not in a million years.

“It’s okay,” he told her. 

But she cleared her throat, wiped at her eyes, and set her fingers to work on carefully removing the bandage. She sighed and relaxed when she could finally see the injury. He took it as a good sign and looked, too.

“You’re a better tailor than Armani,” he smirked and watched a smile pass along the line of her mouth. He’d have given most anything for it to have settled in but what he saw next was more comforting.

She began pulling together the cracks of her armor, using the sleeve of her shirt to dry her cheeks then run her fingers through her hair, trying to achieve some order. Her efforts hit a snag, literally, when a finger caught in a tangle. She swore under her breath, using a common word for excrement that he’d never heard her say before. Usually she just said _crap_.

“Yeah, that’s it, talk dirty to me, Scully,” he tried playfully and managed to net a lingering smile this time.

She stopped what she was doing and stared at him. “If that word is part of your bedroom vocabulary, you can count me out.”

_She’s back._

He knew the distress wasn’t gone for good but for now, she was putting herself neatly back together. He was happy to mark a victory in her column, even if he knew she would withdraw for a while. She would need the distance from him as she did her family, although maybe not as much. Hopefully.

“If it’s not, can I count you in?”

She smiled at him and for a moment he thought she might say _yes_ , when her eyes darted down to his mouth. He would have thought it wishful thinking on his part, except he hadn’t really been thinking about it, but he knew better. They weren’t _there_ ; he would feel it if they were.

“To sleep,” she said with a weary, sad smile. 

He gave her a little tilt of his head in understanding then stood and offered her his left hand. She took it, leveraged herself up out of the floor, and headed to the bedroom, teasing over her shoulder.

“Although, if you have a sleeping bag…”

She quickly glanced upward and he grinned, an expression that broadened to the point his cheeks ached when she paused at the entry to his room and gave him one of those little flirty looks from the bar last night.

“Come on, Mulder. From the way you’re standing, that couch is not conducive to good posture. You can have the left side.”

And, with that, she disappeared through the doorway. 

He followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been writing fan fiction for more than 20 years, starting with Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Battlestar Galactica (reimagined series) and House. M.D. This is my first foray into The X-Files, although I have been a fan of the show since the original airing and a Mulder/Scully shipper for a lot longer than I realized. I hope you enjoy the story!


	13. Pencils & Gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder and Scully return to work...

Dana Scully stared at the text cursor on the screen. The pulsing of the vertical bar was like a heartbeat. One flash per second. Sixty flashes per minute. Lowest resting heart rate in the normal range for the average human being.

She had no idea why she was looking at it. She’d finished her case report some time ago, even read it through twice. All she needed to do was print it out, tuck it into the folder she’d already labeled, and deliver it to Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s office. Four floors up from hers and Mulder’s basement exile.

Mulder. The coffee she’d brought him sat on his desk, cooling. Insomniac that he was, he usually beat her in but not always, so she wasn’t worried that he was ten minutes tardy. He had probably just overslept or his arm had probably hindered his usual morning routine.

Yesterday afternoon, before she’d left his home for her own, she’d covered the bandage on his arm so he could shower and not worry about it this morning. She wanted him to keep it covered a few more days, until after she pulled the stitches. So far it looked good, and she included that in her report. 

Dana wondered if the mention of his injury would consign them to the office for the next week. She hoped not. She wanted to get out into the field. She needed the distraction from the weekend’s events, to keep her mind from replaying them over and over, looking for a different outcome. It was a foolish exercise but a very human tendency. 

For the most part, she’d managed to keep them at bay since her meltdown in Mulder’s living room floor yesterday morning. She still could not believe what an absolute bastard her brother had been, about everything. She wondered whether she’d been overly harsh with him, if she’d crossed a line in cutting to the chase. But she pushed that question aside, reminding herself that she had given him several opportunities to either defend himself or apologize, or say anything that would have broken the tense, empty silence. It wasn't her fault he wouldn’t _man up_ , as Mulder had called it.

Dana hadn’t criticized her partner on the _reverse_ sexism that particular saying _could_ imply because he wasn’t trying to enforce a gender stereotype and he wasn’t wrong – Bill did need to step up and take responsibility. That stereotype was what Bill was applying to her, either knowingly or unknowingly, which made her thankful for Mulder.

Overall, Mulder was about as far from sexist as any man she’d ever met. Sure, could be possessive and threw out the playful innuendo here and there, in her direction, and had from the beginning, but he had never, ever made her feel harassed. He made her crazy, yes, but he had never offended her regarding her gender or qualifications. He was fair with her. So much so that she hesitated to think what her FBI career would have been like if she had been assigned with any one of the social Neanderthals that dominated the Bureau’s male ranks. 

Dana had crossed paths with many of them over the years, at all levels of law enforcement, and had even dressed down her medical peers more than a few times. They too often saw her as _less_ because of her gender. And her stature didn’t help.

That’s why they were always surprised by her abject refusal to yield her rightful place regardless of what prejudices they nursed toward women. Mulder had always backed her up in those situations by letting her fight her own fights. Just like with Bill. 

Unfortunately, nothing spoke louder to a man or group of men than witnessing another man of position treat a woman as an equal and not rush to her defense when she was confronted with misogyny. It was sad that in the 21st Century, some men still needed that male-validation credential in order to take a woman seriously, and even that wasn’t always enough. But that was a reality for every woman who stepped outside of the carefully drawn boundaries of the white, male patriarchy.

It bothered her intensely that her brother was apparently a part of that. With two fiercely independent sisters and a headstrong mother, she would have thought he’d have a different take. But then there was their father, who while never overtly disrespectful had not hesitated to let his disapproval be known when Dana choose a different path from the expected one. She wondered, if he were alive, what he would think about where Dana’s choice had led her. Would  he blame Mulder or her, or both of them, for Melissa’s fate. Would he stand behind Bill or lead the charge? Where would her mother be in all of it?

Dana shoved such speculation aside as she continued to watch the cursor pulse on the computer screen. It was a pointless exercise and not a question she really wanted an answer to anyway. Ahab was gone. It was best to leave him in peace and not dwell on past choices and their outcomes. She could not change them and wasn’t even sure she would if she could. She had to live with what was, not _what ifs_ and _if onlys_.

That included her relationship with Mulder.

To date, Dana had chosen him, at every turn, at every crossroad. He had always been the only choice in the end. She would ask herself why but she already knew the answer, although she had no real words that could explain it to anyone else.

_My touchstone. My anchor. My port in a storm._

He had been all those things in that the last two days, steadfast when she needed him most. In some ways, she was surprised at how vulnerable she’d let herself be in his presence. It wasn’t her usual M.O., which is why when she’d told him she would need a little space over the next few days, he’d accepted it with an understanding look and soft “I know.”

Yes, he knew, just like she knew that despite their flirtations, she could lay down with him in his bed to sleep, just sleep, with no expectations of more, from either of them. 

 _Of course, it wasn’t the first time_ , she mused, remembering a small motel in rural Kansas when they’d been forced to share a room. An inexplicably airborne cow crashing through the roof of a motel room on a clear, cloudless night – that could only happen to Mulder. One look at him trying to fit his long frame comfortably across the two pitiful chairs in her room and she’d taken pity and told him to get in the bed with her.

He had, as usual, made innuendos the whole way over to the bed, but he’s been the perfect gentleman in bed, never once making a move on her. Even when they woke up spooning. Just like yesterday.

It had been comforting to not wake up alone, not to mention sleeping without vexing dreams. The rest had left her refreshed and with a greater degree of control over her emotions. She’d rested well last night, too, in her own bed, and woken this morning less stressed than she’d expected. She knew the distress over family affairs would lessen over time and would love to dive into really intriguing case to help that along.

“What’s up, Doc?”

Dana’s heart jumped and she promptly fixed her partner with a look of irritation. He was standing in the entry to what she had turned into a small forensics lab over the years; it’s where she did her reports, usually standing at the counter. He was grinning at her, apparently delighted at having startled her. He was so much like a little boy at times.

“Mulder,” she scolded, smiling even as she tossed the nearest object, a pencil from beside her file folder, at him.

His eyes went briefly wide but he laughed when he caught the pencil against his chest. 

“Careful, Scully, you could put an eye out with that. _My_ eye,” he teased. “Of course, if you did, I’d have to file a complaint with HR.”

Dana raised an eyebrow and stepped over to the doorway beside him. Gently grasping a handful of his suit jacket, she urged him to turn around. Then she pointed at the ceiling, which looked remarkably like a porcupine.

“Mulder, do you really think HR would believe that I, a medical doctor, put your eye out with a pencil when they have _that_ as evidence?”

He looked down at her with a mixture of pride and amusement. “Touché, FBI woman.”

She smirked and released his jacket to pat him gently on the back. “How’s your arm?” She asked.

“Feeling better,” he said. “I didn’t need any Vicodin this morning.”

“Good,” she said then went back over to her computer and sent the report to print. “You have your report ready?”

“Already turned it in,” he replied, prompting her to turn and watch him walking to his desk.

“You did not,” she challenged. There was no way. He was always last to turn in paperwork.

“Did, too. Dropped it off at Skinner’s on the way in,” he threw a smirk over his shoulder at her. “By the way, he asked where yours was. He seemed a little disappointed that he didn’t have it already. I mean, I think he just expects better from … hey!”

Projectile number two – an unopened box of latex gloves – hit him square in the ass, making him do a hop-step. She let out a little whoop and covered her mouth as her eyes went wide with shock.

“Somebody had her Wheaties this morning,” he teased then bent down and picked up the box. 

She shook her head, shocked at what she’d done. Not shocked as in mortified, but truly surprised. Unlike with the pencil, she didn’t remember picking the box up until it left her hand on course for his behind. It had been pure retaliatory instinct, the child-like variety, which she was fully prepared to classify as a leftover from their snowball fight on New Year’s Day.

Just in case he was suffering the same, she raised her hands, which turned out to be a good thing because he tossed the box back to her, aiming for her head. She caught it in a clap and giggled as it partially smashed the box.

“Careful, that’s government property you’re destroying there,” he said, dropping down into his desk chair.

She snorted. “Like you care.”

With an inquisitive hum, he cocked his head and propped his elbow on the arm of his chair and gently rubbed his hand over his chin, as if he was actually thinking about the possibility. Then, after a moment, he rested his finger along his upper lip, concealing an emerging smile.

“You’re right. I don’t,” he said, eyes bright, then added quickly as he sat up and opened his briefcase. “Not about boxes anyway.”

Dana raised an eyebrow at the cryptic response, wondering if he meant what she thought. If so, she was of the same opinion in regard to him. But she didn’t ask, not about that at least.

“So, Agent Mulder, do you have a case for us?” she asked as he extracted a stack of folders from his briefcase.

He glanced up at her with a smile.

“Let’s find out, Agent Scully.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	14. Resigned Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk between friends and partners...

Skinner was making them wait two more days before letting them out in the field, citing the injury to Mulder’s arm. 

Dana Scully resented the hell out of it – Skinner’s decision, not Mulder’s arm – to the point of near insolence. She was a doctor and she’d said he was good to go, but apparently that wasn’t enough.

She had actually grumbled at the tall, broad, balding man when leaving his office after a meeting on something that she couldn’t even remember the details of. She was still muttering to herself as she stalked down the corridor toward the elevator, only peripherally aware of people stepping aside when they saw her. 

Mulder was behind her and she knew he was wondering what was going on; she’d been touchy even before the meeting. She hadn’t told him yet about the talk she’d had with her mother at lunch about Bill, which had been stressful. Her mother feared that both she and Bill had crossed a line that they shouldn’t have.

Dana had apologized to her mother and tried to explain to her exactly and gently why she’d said and done the things she had. No, it hadn’t been because of what Bill had said about Emily, although that had been terribly hurtful. And no, it hadn’t even been about Mulder, at least not in the same way it had been in the past. Then, reluctantly, Dana had showed her mother the letter that she’d received just that morning from Bill, the subtext of which continued to preach his disapproval of her life choices and his thoughts on what he thought she should be doing. Then, sitting on the park bench on the National Mall, she’d held her mother’s hands and apologized again for the whole mess.

“Mom, I didn’t do any of this to hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt him,” she had said through unshed tears. “That’s the last thing I want to do, but I have to live my life on my own terms. He has to accept that or we’re stuck.”

Her mother had nodded, her eyes rife with a pain that absolutely punched a hole somewhere in Dana’s heart. 

“I know,” her mother had replied, eyes glassy with moisture, too. “I just want things to be okay between you. A mother can’t help but hope.”

Dana had hugged her mother then, to comfort her and also to hide the pain her mother’s words had unintentionally triggered. _A mother can’t help but hope_.

Career Navy wife to the core, her mother had shored herself up then took a deep breath before sitting back and laying a hand gently against Dana’s cheek. “Will you come to Mass on Sunday?”

“Unless I’m out of town,” Dana had agreed but almost wished she hadn’t, afraid her mother might drag Father McCue into the mess. 

A guilt trip from a priest, that was the very last thing she needed. But she would go if she could because she loved her mother and Dana wanted to make things up to her the best she could. She needed that relationship to be right. She needed her mother to be okay. As for Bill, he could just go fu–

“Dana?”

Hearing her given name in her partner’s soft baritone effectively obliterated her train of thought. He so rarely called her that that she could almost say he never did. It was then she realized that she was still standing in the elevator car while he stood outside it, using his hand to prevent the doors from closing.

His expression was one of intense concern, making her wonder how many times he’d called her by her last name before he’d resorted to her first.

“You okay?” he asked and she thought it brave of him considering her pat response to that question and her current disposition.

She drew herself up and fixed him with a noncommittal look before ducking under his arm and heading down the hallway to their office. When there, she went straight for her briefcase in the lab and extracted an envelope. She passed it off to Mulder when he came up beside her.

One look at the return address and he glanced at her in question.

“More of the same,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest. She leaned back against the counter and took a deep breath, “And I had lunch with Mom.”

“So that’s where you were,” he commented, moving further into the room. She watched him pull out the rolling chair from under the desk at the back of the little lab; it was buried under various pieces of equipment. He sat but didn’t open the letter.

“Yes,” she answered, looking down at the slightly scuffed toes of her shoes. She frowned and made a mental note to take care of that tonight. 

“Is she angry with you?” her partner asked.

“No,” Dana shook her head. “But it’s awkward, as you can imagine.”

He inclined his head indicating he understood. He fingered the envelope in his hands, glancing down at the handwriting on the front. He still didn’t open it.

“Are you going to respond?”

 _Am I?_ She hadn’t really thought about that yet, but thinking on it now, she shook her head.

“I don’t know what I would say,” she told him then considered asking him the question that kept coming back to her, despite being fairly confident of her own answer. His answer might be different, though, even if he _was_ biased.

“What?”

She couldn’t help the little quirk of her lips at his picking up on her internal debate. The question she had was serious, however. She asked it for admittedly selfish reasons, hating that she wanted outside validation that she hadn’t overreacted and had been within her rights to confront her brother.

“Did I go too far?”

Mulder’s lips twitched like hers had a few moments earlier. 

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask that. I’m rather partial to the Scully who takes up my cause,” he said gently. “But, Scully, I’ve known you for nearly seven years and I can honestly say I’ve never seen you dress down anyone who didn’t have it coming. Including me.”

An answer and yet not…

“And Bill?”

“He had it coming,” he said plainly. “And I’m not saying that because he’s been kicking me all these years. I can take that. What I can’t take is his how he treats you. I hadn’t realized it was directed your way, too.”

Dana sighed, thinking of her interactions with Bill over the years, from childhood to adulthood. She’d realized that the signs had always been there, just nothing overt. She supposed she had excused or misinterpreted them as innocuous or normal sibling conflict, but after Melissa died and Dana had grown older, and more sure in herself and her place in the world…

“I don’t see him often, so our interactions have been limited as adults,” she said, arms still folded across her chest. She hitched one hip on the counter and turned slightly toward her partner. “But looking back, the more confident I became in myself and my choices, he grew more confrontational, passive-aggressively.”

Mulder sat back in the chair, and set the letter on the desk beside him. “Were you ever close?”

“In some ways. I was a tomboy,” she said and blushed, somewhat embarrassed by the revelation. She didn’t think many people would guess that about her, even him, but…

“Your mom told me,” he smiled fondly. “She shared a story about a snake.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t a particularly clever response, but the single-syllable word was the first thing that came out. “When?”

His eyes held hers a moment and she knew. 

“During my abduction,” she said softly.

Her mother had told Dana how Mulder had been there for her, supportive and accessible, and that he had never stopped looking, even when she had been resigned to Dana’s fate. 

“He was so lost,” her mother had told her. 

“His heart was broken,” Melissa had said.

Bill hadn’t even come home. Neither had Charlie. Learning that had hurt her at the time. Now, well, it still hurt, but not as much as it once had. Knowing Mulder had kept the faith, even when everyone else had given up, had soothed that ache over time. They’d had their ups and downs in the years since but in the end, they always found their way back to each other.

Maybe one day, that would happen for her and Bill. And maybe Charlie would find his way back to them, too. And Samantha. Maybe she would one day come home to her brother.

That last thought had her moving across the room to her partner. She set her hand on his shoulder then touched his cheek, skimming her fingers along the mid-day growth of whiskers. She hoped the caress and her smile conveyed where her thoughts had gone, but just in case…

“Hope is the thing with feathers—  
That perches in the soul—  
And sings the tune without the words—  
And never stops—at all—”

 

*** The lines at the end are from Hope is the Thing with Feathers by Emily Dickinson ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	15. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder and Scully investigate lights in the sky...

“Thank God.”

Mulder stepped out of the bathroom of his motel room just in time to see his partner flop back on his bed, arms out to her sides.

He smiled. _Taking the Nestea plunge_.

She had been unusually giddy since they left Washington and actually managed to stay awake the entire flight to Arizona and the subsequent two-hour drive to a small desert town with the unfortunate name of Hapless. She hadn’t even balked at the case – strange lights spotted in the sky, similar to those spotted in Phoenix three years previous.

In the past, she would have rolled her eyes and told him it was a waste of time but she had practically packed his bags for him this morning. She had apparently needed to get out of town as bad as he’d thought. He’d sensed as much earlier in the week when Skinner had delayed their return to field work. It had pissed her off, and she never got mad about that sort of thing.

Of course, she’d been dealing with a lot on the family front and the anniversary of Emily’s death. Mulder thought she probably needed the disconnect and physical distance from the mess. He’d already given her the emotional space that she’d requested but surprisingly, she hadn’t been as remote as he’d expected. She’d actually been talking to him off and on through it, about important things. She’d even been flirty and playful at times.

He’d often thought her an enigma and she’d been living up to that this last week. The latest display only added to her appeal. 

“You can’t be unpacked already,” he said as he tossed the damp hand-towel toward the bathroom sink. They had only just checked in.

She waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll do it later.”

That was unheard of. He walked over to the bed and stood near her feet which dangled several inches above the floor. Her eyes were closed and she was wearing a broad grin. He shook his head and matched the expression.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Freedom,” she said with a quick flash of her eyebrows. She didn’t open her eyes.

He chuckled softly. It was good to see her so happy. She was achingly beautiful in her sorrow but just now, she was an arresting beauty. Her hair was spilled out across the less-than-fashionable bedspread and there was a slight flush across her cheeks.

Like had happened many times during their partnership, he felt himself a little in love with her at the moment. That he _loved_ her was a given.

“You hungry?” he asked, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. He’d already shed his jacket and tie and was looking forward to shedding the rest of the suit for the day. The pair of jeans and dark blue sweater in his suitcase were calling his name.

“Starving,” she said, looking up at him. “Did you get any suggestions from the manager?”

“Yep,” he said, having inquired when he checked them into their rooms. “Ribs, steak, or tacos?”

“Ribs,” she said then held her hands out to him. He stopped unbuttoning, took hold of them, and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m going to get out of this white shirt,” she said, walking past him toward her room. “Be ready in five,” she announced, leaving him laughing softly.

The restaurant was like many local places they'd eaten at over the years, boasting good food, cold beer, a crude sort of charm, and lots and lots of curious, sometimes suspicious looks cast their direction. It was bankable, strangers were always noticed in little towns, especially ones with guns holstered on their hips.

It delighted him that the furtive stares and glances did nothing to subdue Scully’s high spirits. She talked amiably with him throughout the meal about anything he brought up, including UFOs. She was even indulging in a beer with him, and she usually abstained from alcohol when they were in the field.

Mulder recognized this Scully. She was the one who had hit baseballs with him one spring evening last year, and the one who’d had a snowball fight with him on New Year’s Day. He was filled with a sense of wonder at experiencing her again so soon. He hadn’t expected that but here she was, laughing at some really bad joke he’d told moments ago. 

Getting her to laugh like that while smiling that broad, bright grin was like winning the lottery. He considered himself a lucky man to know her, and even more so that she was a part of his life on a near-daily basis. 

His existence had been a lonely one before her. No friends to speak of beyond the oddball Gunmen. Only sporadic contact with his parents. No significant others because past interests had done little more than trample or abandon him in the end. That meant little love, given or received, and definitely no trust.

She had come in and filled all those empty spaces with a fierce passion and intelligence equal to his own. She’d also brought with her logic and reason, smiles and laughter, devotion and trust. She’d made his life so full that he sometimes felt like sending a thank you note to the Consortium for underestimating her.

Young, ambitious, and beautiful. That’s what they’d seen. An enticement or encumbrance for him and a chance of advancement for her. They’d thought her naive and hadn’t taken into account her personal integrity and commitment to justice. If they had, she would have been the last person they’d have chosen.

Without blinking an eye, she had promptly turned the tables on them and chose truth over personal gain, freeing him to continue his pursuit not leashing him as they’d planned. Instead of destroying his work, she’d validated it and gave it a credibility that he could never have hoped to do alone. 

They’d tried to destroy her for it, but everything they’d thrown at her, she’d thrown back in their faces in open contempt and continued to relentlessly pursue the truth at his side. Courage. She had that by the buckets, by the ocean, to surpass the vastness of space. It was rivaled only by her compassion and sense of loyalty. He had benefited from all those things, personally and professionally. They had literally saved his life more times than he could count. 

After supper, he brought up the subject on their walk back to the motel, just a half-mile away.

“I hope I gave them migraines,” she said with a smile while bundled in her long, wool coat against the desert evening cold.

He mirrored the expression and wholeheartedly agreed with her prescription

“You’ve given me a few over the years,” he teased.

That earned him a playful shove to his left shoulder, pushing him a few inches over the white line along the road edge. Thankfully, there were no cars coming. She giggled, of course, then cocked her head in challenge when he looked back at her.

The sight of her smile was enough to…

Lights strobed beside them. Police lights. Headlights suddenly bathed them in blinding beams.

In unison with his partner, they stopped and turned their heads toward the source, raising their right hands up to block the bulk of the light from their eyes.

“Hold there,” came a man’s voice from somewhere behind the lights.  “Get both hands up.”

“We’re federal agents,” Mulder said even as he complied with the order. Someone must have called in their presence at the restaurant. Beside him, he heard Scully sigh.

“We have identification,” she said as the officer moved in front of the lights, which briefly dimmed as he passed through the beams.

“You’re armed?”

“Yes,” Mulder answered.

There was a pause then, “Let the little lady show an ID. Slowly.”

Mulder resisted looking at Scully. He knew the “little lady” comment had netted an epic frown from his partner.

“Special Agent Dana Scully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she said calm and clear. In his peripheral vision, Mulder saw her extend her arm, holding up her badge and ID. “This is my partner, Fox Mulder.”

Mulder was able to see the man clearer as he moved closer. White, in his late 40s with dark eyes. Possibly balding, all traces of hair concealed by a well-worn cowboy hat. Dark brown, satin jacket with what were presumably official patches, unzipped. Tan uniform, no tie. Heavily scuffed cowboy boots. .357 revolver slung low on his right hip in a brown, western-tooled leather service belt and holster. There was a greasy stain on his shirt, just above and to the right of his badge.

“Okay,” the walking cliché said in the direction of Scully.

“Now you,” the officer said, moving to stand in front of Mulder. 

Just in case Barney Fife was trigger happy, Mulder slowly lowered his arms then unzipped his black leather jacket. He made no sudden moves as he reached into the inner pocket for his ID.

“Huh,” the officer grunted when Mulder extracted then opened the leather wallet to reveal his own badge and photo identification card. “You stayin' here in town?”

“Yes, sir,” Scully answered with appropriate respect for the officer. “We’re here on a case.”

“Well, I’m the sheriff and I ain’t called no feds out here,” the man said then turned his head and spit in punctuation.

 _Chewing tobacco_ , Mulder surmised from the scent that came along with the forcibly expelled saliva.

“We’re looking into recent claims made to the media, military, and government about unidentified lights seen in the sky in this area,” Mulder said.

“You serious, boy?” the sheriff squinted up at Mulder. 

“There were reports of a similar phenomenon in Phoenix two years ago,” Mulder said, knowing he was opening himself up for ridicule, but not really caring. “We’re looking for substantiation and if there’s a correlation with that event.”

The sheriff’s expression became a smirk that clearly communicated that he thought Mulder was an idiot. Or crazy.

“I ain’t seen no lights,” the sheriff half-laughed, explaining, “Just some damn long-hairs that moved in here a while back and finally tried out the local Indians’ peyote.”

“Long-hairs?” Scully asked. 

The sheriff didn’t spare her a glance when he answered, his tone condescending at best, “You know, sweetheart. Hippies, druggies, junkies. California specials, as we call ’em out here.”

That’s two sexist endearments in under a minute. Scully had to be gritting her teeth.

“At any rate,” Mulder said, “We’re just out here to ask a few questions for documentation purposes and have a quick look for ourselves.”

The sheriff spit again, making sure to hawk up some mucus to go along with the dirty brown saliva. Mulder felt his stomach turn and imagined Scully was shooting the man a disgusted look from under her eyebrows.

“Uh huh,” the man said as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You two stayin’ down at Rosie’s Ranch?”

“Yeah,” Mulder replied even though question was absurd. There were no other overnight accommodations in the little town.

The sheriff cocked an eyebrow at Mulder, assessing. “Same room?” he asked with clear salacious interest.

“Separate, sir,” Scully answered for him, her tone clipped and as cold as the wind coming in off the desert. Mulder shivered hearing it. The sheriff finally looked at her, somewhat shocked.

_Never let it be said that Scully can’t call to heel even the most repellent of law officers._

“Now, if it’s all right with you,” she continued and with an authority that clearly said she didn’t give a damn what he had to say, “It’s been a long day and I’m going to turn in for the night.”

In punctuation, she dismissed herself, moving around behind Mulder and resuming their previous course to the motel without so much as a glance back.

The sheriff scowled after her then looked at Mulder for some reason. Mulder shrugged.

“Goodnight, Sheriff,” he said then trotted to catch up with his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	16. It's In Her/His Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You also have the audacity to possess misogyny’s unholy trinity of intelligence, confidence, and physical attractiveness. Plus you are devoid of disgusting habits.” – Fox Mulder to Dana Scully, in Hapless Arizona

“What is it with some men, Mulder?”

Dana Scully asked the question of her partner after yanking open the connecting doors to their rooms and stepping into his without invitation. He had just tossed his jacket onto the shabby orange chair by the door. She moved to the middle of the room, hands on her hips.

“Is it too much to ask for the tiniest bit of respect as a fellow sentient human being?”

Mulder was wearing that little smart-ass smirk when he answered, “Well, you’re sentient, Scully. I can’t vouch for the sheriff.”s

She wanted to smile – okay, she did a little on the inside – but she was worked up after the exchange with the town’s gun-toting, badge-wearing caveman. Like she needed a reminder of this crap so soon after the dust-up with her brother.

“What is it that sets them off? Is it the hair? The clothes? The breasts? The lack of penis?”

“All of the above,” Mulder said with a sympathetic smile. “You also have the audacity to possess misogyny’s unholy trinity of intelligence, confidence, and physical attractiveness. Plus you are devoid of disgusting habits.”

Dana groaned at the memory of the spit-fest that had nearly made her lose her supper. She shoved it away to avoid it happening now, and watched Mulder sit on the side of the bed and untie and toe off his hiking boots.

“I highly doubt you thought it would be different here than practically everywhere else we’ve been,” he said when he sat up.

“No,” she said then sighed, arms dropping to her sides, “But it gets old, Mulder.”

Just once, she wanted to go somewhere that men didn’t…

“I know it does. And I don’t like that you have to deal with it,” he said and she believed him. She saw it clearly in his eyes, which made her want to kiss him silly in gratitude. Except they were here in an official capacity and she had no desire to validate the sheriff’s insinuations.

“Goddammit,” she said, tearing her eyes from his and looking up at the ceiling. She cursed her sense of professionalism and the ridiculous double-standard applied to women.

“What?”

She thought about telling him but decided she didn’t want to have the discussion. Nor did she want to dig into how kissing him – or rather the desire to kiss him – was rapidly becoming a reflex for her. She had only sometimes felt it before New Year’s but now…

“God, I was really looking forward to this case,” she said instead.

He looked at her, amused. “You were?”

She smiled and caught his gaze. 

“Well, not specifically,” she said then confessed, “Mulder, I would have jumped at any cockamamie theory you presented, including searching for the Easter bunny, just to get out of Washington for a few days.”

And she would have. She knew she’d shocked the hell out of him by embracing this one without a single argument against it. She didn’t think her confession shocked him, though. He’d had time to think about her reactions and evaluate them against recent events. He was a smart man.

“But that doesn’t surprise you,” she said and watched him smile.

“No,” he said. “And I’m sorry about what happened tonight.”

“It’s not your fault, Mulder,” she said. “But thank you.”

Her partner’s smile became an equally adorable and infuriating smirk. 

“I’ll deal with him from here on if we cross paths.”

Dana immediately shot Mulder a warning look. She did not need him running interference for her. He knew that better than anyone, but here he was saying he was about to do just that.

“I can handle him, Mulder,” she said.

“You handled Congress, Scully. Believe me, I know Local Sheriff Stereotype is way out of his league,” he countered. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to on this case, unless that’s what you want.”

Dana sighed.

“I know you mean well, Mulder, and I really don’t care what men of his ilk think of me, but this isn’t about _want_ ,” she said, aggravated with the world at the moment. “How can men like him ever take me or any other woman seriously if another man does the talking for us? Tonight, within minutes, he presumed we were lovers. In his mind, I couldn’t possibly be out here of my own volition with an actual job to do. To him, I’m an object with only one purpose, to serve the whims of men. I resent the hell out of that. And I resent the hell out of my brother for thinking along the same lines, that I’m somehow in this with you because we must be sexually involved.”

She could claim she didn’t care what the men on the job thought and mean it, but not her brother. The fact her voice had steadily risen as she uttered that final sentence revealed exactly how much he’d hurt her, at how deeply he had been able to reach in order to unsettle a long-settled and resigned part of her. And to call her a liar … she had no words.

Mulder frowned and she knew why. She’d answered her brother’s question about that at New Year’s but apparently Bill had chosen to ignore that as well as the results of Emily’s DNA tests.

“Your brother thinks we’re lovers?” he asked, clearly bewildered.

“He made the accusation, amongst others, in a second letter,” she told him. The indictments had razed any hopes she had of working things out with her brother quickly. “Suffice it to say, I’m no longer worried that I was too harsh with him.”

Mulder rose and walked over to her. She looked up at him, into that discerning hazel gaze and saw a question there. He gave it voice.

“Do you resent me for my part in that?”

She shook her head and laid her hand on his arm. 

“This isn’t about you, Mulder,” she said and sought to soothe the hurt the words might inflict by sliding her hand down and into his. “You have no part in this. This is about my brother’s part in  the crap women deal with every day from all manner of men, from total strangers to the ones they love,” she continued. “What I resent is the complete lack of respect and the disregard of my autonomy, especially when I know it’s based on my gender. I resent what the accusations imply, that they classify me as a hysterical female with no control over her feelings and without possible value for anything other than servitude to men’s whims or pleasure. They make me _less_ than who I am. You don’t.”

“I haven’t always treated you fairly, Scully,” he said and she saw his guilt and knew from where it stemmed. She was grateful he made no mention of persons or events and just let it be the apology she knew it was.

“It’s forgiven. Always,” she said softly, tears pricking. _Forgiven. Always._

“Why, Scully? After everything you’ve lost, why?”

The mood shifted between them, to something decidedly intimate. This conversation was no longer about antiquated views on women’s roles in the world. They’d had short variations of this one over the years, veiled to noncommittal, while longer discourse had always been undertaken alone through self-examination – at least for her.

Dana remembered the near-kiss in hallway of his apartment building a few years back. She remembered standing in his doorway just months ago confessing his importance in her life and her need of him. She remembered sitting beside too many hospital beds praying and hoping. She remembered touches to the small of her back, her shoulder, or her cheek. She remembered kisses of comfort to her brow or the top of her head, touchings of foreheads and sheltering embraces when her world threatened to tilt off its axis.

She let him closer than she’d ever let anyone and there was only one reason why, for all of it. The real question was whether or not she had the courage to say it aloud, to him.

“You know why,” she said, then silently, _It’s the same reason you went to a literal end of the earth to find me, with absolutely no plan on how to get back. There was only the blinding need for me, for us, and what fuels it._

“Scully…”

His voice was low and soft and it tugged at what bound her to him, seeking and needing to reassure him and to be reassured. 

 _This is love unconditional_ , she thought. _Forgiving, steadfast, through both good and bad. And it could be more._  

For the second time since she’d known him, she felt the want of _more_. Clear and specific desire. For him. And it wasn’t just physical. And she thought she saw its mirror in him, which made her want to kiss him again.

Dana trembled as his thumb traveled the back of her hand in a gentle, sweeping arc.  Her other hand reached for him instinctively, heedless of her earlier reasons for resisting the urge. She touched his cheek then gently cupped the back of his neck and drew him down. 

As he descended, he watched her through hooded, lush-lashed eyes and she did not look away. Not until she felt his breath on her lips. She shut her eyes then and pressed her mouth to his. And lingered. And lingered. And gently parted her lips. 

An offer? A request? Both?

Mulder trembled noticeably and his hand flexed around hers, fingers tightening then easing, then lacing when the first kiss became a second. Soft, tentative, but not the kiss of friends, of comfort or acknowledgement that they’d shared in the past. This was more. This was the hallway without the urgency. Without that goddamned bee.

Neither of them said a word as their mouths moved together slowly, in breathy, barely-there kisses. A first true test of what remained unexplored between them, one that would have put to rest any doubts Dana might have had about their compatibility in this, too.

She was responding to _him_. Her touchstone. Her friend and partner. Her champion and charge. And more. So much more. And now this.

_God, this. With Mulder._

After so long without this sort of connection, she couldn’t help but want more. To feel _his_ body against hers in a way she never had before. To discover him anew. But a part of her was equally terrified at what it meant for them in all other respects. That part of her sent up an alarm before the rest of her could lodge a formal protest, prompting her to pull her mouth from his suddenly.

She immediately buried her face in his chest with an anguished exhale, grieving the loss and cursing herself for opening the door without being ready to go through it.

Damn it, she had invited him in and now she was shutting him out and didn’t know if she could even tell him why, at least right now.

But God, bless him, he didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t ask for an explanation. He just eased his arms around her and held her gently while she leaned against him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head in response. 

“It’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	17. Frankly Speaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder and Scully have a frank discussion about sex and intimacy...

They didn’t talk about what happened.

She had allowed him to hold her for a few minutes before she’d retreated to her room. But not before kissing him again, a pressing of lips that offered reassuring gentleness and held a hint of promise.

Just now, Mulder lay watching the flickering images on the room television. It was as old as the decor, circa 1976, but managed a fairly decent picture. Good enough to allow him to see that the breasts on the moaning woman were clearly fake. Not that he expected otherwise in a porn flick.

He honestly wasn’t sure why he was watching. 

After Scully had left him alone with a quasi-erection, he’d wandered down to the motel office and gave them his credit card for the evening’s entertainment options; no way he needed that showing up on his expense reports. Although he could open a case investigating why porn was available in the smallest of towns in America but good coffee wasn’t. 

_Not exactly an X-file, but probably worth checking into._

Mulder could just imagine Skinner’s face when he read the report. And Scully’s when he pitched the idea.

She had surprised him tonight, in more ways than one, the last leaving him pining for her but not exactly confused. 

Dana Scully was a complex woman, rigid in many respects, remote in others, but fundamentally warm, affectionate, and caring beneath her carefully crafted facade of professionalism. She had dropped that mask more and more frequently with him over the years, evidence of their ever-growing trust, but tonight she’d been on the verge of ditching it altogether.

Mulder’s mind turned inward while the caricatural carnality silently played out on the small screen near the foot of the bed. He considered her passion, always there in their work and friendship, but now revealed in matters of the heart and flesh.

She had fair radiated with it as she kissed him and he’d responded to it without question. He would have deepened their kiss. He would have undressed her and laid her out on the bed. He would have buried his cock in her and made her lose that precious control. If she hadn’t ended things when she did, he would have made love to her however she wanted.

Of course he couldn’t have put together that series of thoughts at the time. He mind had been blank of all but what he felt and the knowledge of who was making him feel it. He examined it now and realized she had been similarly overwhelmed and that it had frightened her. 

Always in control, his Scully, and terrified when she wasn’t. He knew that she defined herself, in part, by that extraordinary self-control. It was necessary in many aspects of her life, especially in their work because he was her exact opposite: impulsive. She kept him grounded, provided counterbalance.

_The yin to my yang._

With the cat out of the bag, so to speak, he found himself entertaining how that dynamic might play out in bed. He liked where his thoughts went but he quickly cautioned himself to never forget who she was and what she meant to him. Not that he could actually forget, but after the evening’s revelations, he refused to reduce her to a piece of ass even though she could never be just that to him. Not in a million years. Even though he was hard as steel at just the thought of her. Even though it had been too damned long since he’d been with a woman he loved, much less trusted. 

_Diana…_

Mulder wished Old Smokey had taken a few memories along with whatever else it was he stole from his gray matter. He could do without the images of his ex riding him while he tried to hang onto his sanity. It hadn’t been non-consensual, but it hadn’t been entirely consensual either. He’d barely been a participant, able to read her mind and thoughts but only fleetingly, making him wonder if it had ever really happened at all. Perhaps it had been a planted suggestion, like the idyllic and ultimately unrecognizable existence offered him by that black-lunged son of a bitch.

_Does it count if I don’t know if it was real or not? How do I answer the question if Scully ever asks?_

He knew how long it had been for her. The tattoo on her lower back marked the occasion. It had bothered him initially – he’d always been territorial where she was concerned – but he’d come to terms with it over time, accepting that she had a life beyond him, even if she spent most of her time at his side. It had been a hard lesson learned, her cancer diagnosis and fight against the disease bringing into focus how petulant he’d been and how utterly terrified he’d been of losing her.

 _It would be like losing a part of myself. Which is why_ , he told himself, _she pulled away tonight._

No matter how good it had felt or how much they’d wanted each other, some part of her had assessed a potential threat to their relationship as it stood. He couldn’t blame her for that, and wouldn’t, even if he had to spend the rest of his life with only the memory of those few kisses and a perpetual hard-on.

His connection with Scully was more important than discovering the promised land between her thighs. Besides, his hand and cock were old friends and more than capable of working out any urges that arose so that the rest of him could be with her, however she would have him.

A movement across the room caught Mulder’s eye and he looked over to see the subject of his thoughts standing in the connecting doorway. She had shut her side earlier, but he had left his cracked to let her know he was not angry with her and that he would not turn her away. Not that he’d expected her to return. It had been a deliberate gesture, an olive branch that he hoped communicated that he respected her concerns.

But there she was standing with just her toes on the carpet of his room, biting her bottom lip and watching…

Mulder froze, not realizing until that moment that he’d been jacking himself off, slowly, through his boxer briefs. He silently chided himself for his carelessness and for renting the damned porn. He should have just gone to sleep. Right now, he should have been reaching for the remote and turning the TV off but he was caught like a deer in headlights, not knowing what to do as her eyes met his.

He fully expected her to withdraw at any moment, but she didn’t. She just stood there long enough for his erection to deflate and his heart to have pounded a hole in his ribs before easing further into his room. 

He swallowed and watched her, his eyes drawn to the flare of her hips and jiggle of her breasts beneath the over-sized bed clothes. T-shirt and shorts. No makeup, hair still slightly damp from her bath.

He watched her as she sat on the bed, close but not too close to him, and thought naughty things when her eyes moved over his body. Then he cooled when she glanced back to the television where some busty blonde was taking it where the sun didn’t shine.

“Why do you watch?”

The whispered question had an obvious answer but he knew that wasn’t what she was looking for. This was a conversation opener, albeit a vastly different than the usual for them, and they’d had some unusual ones over the years.

“It meets a need,” he said, matching her tone and volume. “And it’s less complicated than managing the expectations of a one-night stand.”

The slight incline of her head in acknowledgment was barely visible against the flickering light from the video but he saw it, and the commiseration in the glistening blue of her eyes. He heard her take a quivering breath and it was more erotic than any sounds he would hear if he turned up the volume on the prurient trash playing on the TV.

“I miss it, Mulder,” she said on exhale, then barely audible, “Touching, being touched, kissing … fucking.”

Rock hard in a second flat. Just long enough for that last word to leave her lips and reach his ears. If she looked, he would embarrass himself and feared he might have to consider penile amputation just so he would be able to walk again. If she left, he’d have to let her and love her anyway.

“Is that what you want?” he braved, knowing she could bolt at any moment, half-expecting her to but betting on her preference for directness and honesty when it came to the important things. She always returned those in kind and she did so now, her eyes unwavering on his even though she visibly trembled. He felt the echo of the tremor through the mattress and deep in his chest.

“Yes,” she said, softly and certain even as her expression grew somber. “But, Mulder, it can’t be just that. You mean too much to me and what we share is too important to make it solely about scratching an itch. Not here. Not now.”

Reasonable. Scully was always reasonable and Mulder couldn’t say he disagreed with her despite the clamoring coming from his groin and his baser impulses. 

Whatever his earlier impulses, as a man who loved her, all he had to do was look around them, at the dingy recesses of the room to know there had to be a better place. As for timing, she wasn’t wrong about that either. If she was wrong, porn wouldn’t be playing on his television, bathing her raw beauty in a guttering, blue-hued light.

_Not here. Not now._

“Can you forgive me?” she asked and the small, strained whisper clawed into his chest, reaching for his heart as surely as Padgett’s psychic surgeon tried to rip hers from her body. Seeing her eyes grow glassy as she waited for his answer, he acted on instinct.

“Come here,” he said and held an arm out to her, inviting her to lay with him. 

He took heart when she did not hesitate, holding up the covers for her as she moved onto the mattress and curled up next to him, her back to him. He took the hint and spooned her small frame within his much larger one. He blindly found the remote amidst the covers, which he’d pulled up around them, and shut off the television. He tossed the device away and it landed with a thump somewhere. He then eased his arm around her.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she said as he settled.

“Don’t be,” he murmured against her shoulder, the soft fabric of her night shirt heating with his breath. “You’re not wrong, Scully.”

Her hand found his hand where it rested on her stomach. 

“I was afraid of hurting you,” she said, lacing their fingers.

“I may have an inflated ego, Scully, but it’s not that fragile. Not in bed at least,” he whispered, smiling. “I know what I’m doing but I’m not exactly a Don Juan,” he said then added, audibly amused, “I’m not even a Don Juan DeMarco.”

He felt her smile, through her body, a subtle change in how she lay with him gave it away. He marveled, thinking he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that before; or maybe he hadn’t been paying attention in the past; or maybe he just knew her so well that he couldn’t help but recognize the shift in mood. Whatever the reason, he was glad to know she felt reassured and thrilled when she teased him back.

“It’s a good thing you’re not a salesman,” she said softly, her mirth clear. “You’re a terrible pitchman. For yourself.”

He laughed softly in the darkness. “That’s just sad, isn’t it?”

She let out a little giggle and her body shook with it. He snuggled closer, nuzzling the place where her neck and shoulder met. Her hair tickled his cheek but he ignored it and breathed her in. She shivered in his embrace and whispered his name.

His lips found her skin and pressed gently. 

“Get some sleep, Scully,” he whispered as he settled his head down on the pillow, just behind hers. “We’ve got locals to interview tomorrow.”

“Great,” she whispered and drew their hands up and tucked them beneath her chin. She sighed in what he thought might be contentment and kissed his knuckles before wishing him a goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	18. A Shoulder to Drool On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hate to say it, Mulder, but the sheriff might be right about the peyote.”

“I hate to say it, Mulder, but the sheriff might be right about the peyote.”

Dana Scully made the observation after five hours of sitting in their rental car, at night, in the desert, in the cold. Her words were visible in the air, making her grateful for the blanket across her lap and the hot cup of coffee warming her fingers.

“Maybe,” he said and leaned forward in the seat. Hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, he peered out the windshield, looking upward. “Our witnesses didn’t exactly reek with credibility.”

Dana snorted. “They reeked of something.”

“And it wasn’t peyote,” he replied.

“How would you know?” she asked, recalling the _fragrant_ , thankfully sheriff-less interviews they’d conducted just that afternoon. She’d have expected a display of territoriality, which so often came with the local law enforcement cliché.

“Let’s just say Albert Hosteen burned a little more than sage in that blessing ceremony,” he replied.

Dana smiled even as she felt a twinge of sadness for the loss of the wise Navajo; he had been a steadfast ally until the end. Leaning her head against the side window, mirroring Mulder’s actions, she scanned the star-filled sky. 

“What do you think their monthly Twinkie and microwave burrito budget is?” Mulder asked.

She snorted again. “I wouldn’t want to hazard a guess.”

“My guess is Pentagon toilet seats cost less.”

She heard the crinkle of plastic and looked over to see her partner had sat back and was digging into a new bag of sunflower seeds. 

“About the same as your sunflower seed budget?” she teased and earned a playful look. 

“Probably,” he replied, smirking, “But your shoe budget has us all beat.”

“Says Mr. Armani,” she said with a roll of her eyes, resisting the temptation to complain to him about yet another sexist double-standard in regards to how women are expected to dress in the workplace and the associated costs. She could have lectured him, easily, but she was enjoying their exchange too much to go off on a tangent. The ease of it was intoxicating and she didn’t mind getting a little drunk on it.

When he laughed then resumed looking out his side window, she let her eyes trace over him. He was undoubtedly a handsome man but he was also a good man. Few people at the Bureau would credit him that, too quick to make him a punchline or butt of a joke. But she knew and last night he had proven it yet again to her. 

Whereas the men she’d dated in the past would have accused her of being a tease and left in a fuming fit over her hesitancy to initiate sex, Mulder had not only accepted her reasons, but agreed with them, then he’d let her sleep in his arms. And he hadn’t complained or asked why she’d risen well before him and returned to her room to get ready for the day. He was a rare man and one she frequently learned to appreciate in new and unexpected ways.

Her most recent discovery: He likes to snuggle. The few times they’d shared a bed, they’d woken spooned. That had never been high on her list of priorities in a relationship before but she was finding it addictive with him. Perhaps because he’d been in her personal space for so long, almost from the beginning, that she didn’t feel smothered, even with him being so much larger than her. She wondered if that would change if they began something physical.

 _When_ , Dana told herself, _not if._

After she’d left him in his room the night before, she had devoted a great deal of thought to the possibility, evaluating her feelings and what he’d revealed of his own. She had not been able to deny the inevitability of a future that saw them as lovers, in some form. The attraction was there. The desire was there. The love was there. The trust was there. Timing was the wild card.

That’s why she’d gone back to his room, needing him to understand she was not rejecting him, that she did not regret those watershed moments. She’d needed to acknowledge the discovery of yet another undeniable truth between them. Out of respect and love, she had returned.

Dana had not, however, expected to find him involved in an intimate act, even if he hadn’t been fully vested yet. But she had not retreated. She had waited for him to see her and shamelessly admired the sensuality of him as she did. It had aroused her and if they were different people, she might have lost her resolve. But they were who they were, so much so that she hadn't needed to look at the television to know what was on the screen. A predilection for pornography was one of his quirks that he’d never seriously tried to hide and, oddly enough, it had provided the perfect segue into the things that she needed to tell him.

She had placed her trust in him, believing he would understand, despite her fears he might not, and he had not disappointed her. The same could not be said of all their past interactions but in this instance, in such an intensely intimate matter, there had been no disappointment, only acceptance and affirmation that they were making the right choice.

 _This case probably wasn’t, though_ , Dana thought, amused and not really caring.

But as the night wore on and the likelihood of something happening dwindled, she felt herself fighting sleep. She told Mulder and he just smiled and offered her his shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll keep watch,” he said and she smiled thinking about how many times she’d crashed on him while on stakeout. And how many times he’d accused her of drooling on him.

“Sure you wanna risk it,” she said as she set her empty coffee cup in the floorboard and situated herself on the seat so she could lean her head on his shoulder. “I drool. Or so you tell me.”

“You drool,” he reiterated and helped her pull the blanket up around her shoulders. 

“Thank you,” she said as she closed her eyes. 

He kissed the top of her head, whispered softly, “You’re welcome.”

Sleep came for her quickly, but not deeply. She drifted instead, the peripheral awareness of her surroundings blending with surface dreams. 

The crack of sunflower seeds. The steady rise and fall of the shoulder that served as pillow for her head. The low heat radiating from the thermos next to her hip. Visions of a lazy fire in the hearth of her home. Dark hair and dusky hazel eyes. A pouty bottom lip. Her hand pressed against a broad, bare chest, nails leaving crescent depressions in golden skin. The heat of moving bodies. Gentle rocking and a soft whisper of her name.

“Yes,” she breathed … and heard a chuckle in response.

“Wake up, G-woman. We’re back at the motel.”

Dana’s eyes flew open to see the sky streaked in the deep pink and purple hues of dawn. She cleared her throat. The dream imagery began to fade but it didn’t dissipate altogether. Her mind felt cottony with them and she wondered if it’s what made her voice so soft when she asked the time.

“Time for bed,” he said and she flushed at his low intimate tone. She wondered if she’d given away the musings of her subconscious in some way. Had she moaned or said his name? She had done neither in her dream. It had been a good dream, comforting and a large part of her wanted to go back there while her professional side reminded her there were other things to do. They would be returning to D.C. in the early evening, which meant they had time for a quick nap before room checkout and the drive to Phoenix to catch their flight.

“You’re waking me up to go to bed, Mulder,” she groused as she slowly sat up. 

“It’s a paradox, Agent Scully. Think we should start an X-file?” 

She cut him a look, both amused and annoyed. “You’re ridiculously cheerful for a man who’s been awake all night, Mulder.”

“I might have napped,” he grinned and pulled the keys out of the ignition. She raised an eyebrow and he chuffed a laugh.

Between the two of them, they gathered up the thermos, their cups and blankets and made their way to their respective rooms.

She was throwing the blanket back across her bed when she heard his cell phone ring through the open connecting doors. Once upon a time, they kept those doors locked but she couldn’t remember exactly when they’d stopped. She was too tired to search her memory but suspected it was after one too many close encounters with evil men and things that go bump in the night. The seconds it took to unlock or break down a door could be the difference between life and death, literally, with their cases.

While Mulder talked with the caller, Dana sat on the side of the bed then laid back and shut her eyes. She listened and decided that from the way her partner was talking, the caller had to be their boss. 

Mulder’s voice had a certain cadence and tone when speaking with Walter Skinner, a man they both respected. It was interesting, she thought, how infrequently Skinner called them when they were out in the field, which was a good thing. If he called, it meant Mulder, or she and Mulder, had rubbed local authorities the wrong way. Or Mulder had done something so colossally impulsive that it endangered both of their lives.

Since they hadn’t seen the sheriff for more than ten minutes since being in town, and they’d had no dustups with any locals, and Mulder hadn’t done something rash, she suspected the call was about another case.

Mulder confirmed it when he came into her room a few minutes later.

“Change of plans, Scully,” he said his tone unexpectedly grim.

She sat up, “What’s wrong?” 

“We’re headed to the Sunshine State for a not so sunny case.”

Florida. She hated Florida cases; they were either weird or disturbing. From Mulder’s expression, this one going to be disturbing.

“It’s bad,” she said and he nodded. 

“Get ready. I’ll fill you in on the way to Phoenix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	19. Florida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florida was turning out to be a nightmare...

Fox Mulder watched his partner with concern, peering through the small square window in the stainless door.

Garbed in blue scrubs and cap, wearing a white surgical mask and protective goggles, she was conducting her third autopsy of the day. On a child. It was nearing 9 p.m. and she’d been working since 8 that morning.

Florida was turning out to be a nightmare.

Six bodies found over in the Everglades over the course of five weeks. All children. Each had been mutilated in a fashion that didn’t seem directly attributable to a human being, one of the indigenous predatory species of the region, or even known non-indigenous, aggressively invasive species that had been introduced to the area in recent years.

As the body count rose and children remained the only victims found, local authorities had understandably assumed an organized killer. But the bite marks found on various parts of the bodies, the shredding of tissue, and crushing breaks in bone, did not match any recorded forensics or modus operandi according to ViCAP, the FBI unit Mulder had once worked for profiling violent serial crimes.

Mulder could find no motive for these killings.

The victims were unrelated with no apparent connections. Four were traveling with their parents and went missing from rest stops and tourist attractions; the other two were locals and had disappeared from community parks or walks home from school.

There was no discernible pattern in victim choice beyond being children. Their ages ranged from four to nine. They were of varying ethnicities. Different eye colors. Different hair colors. They’d been wearing different types and colors of clothing when last seen.

The abduction and dump sites were located in different areas around the area Everglades and no kill sites had been found to date. All the bodies had been found in water, so trace evidence had been contaminated or non-existent by time of examination.

Local and state authorities had no leads to help narrow the focus of their investigation to man or animal, so they’d called the Bureau in desperation. ViCap had contacted Skinner upon seeing the unusual nature of the injuries, and Skinner had called Mulder.

His profiling experience and years of investigating the unexplained, along with Scully’s expertise and sterling reputation in forensics and pathology, had made them the obvious choice to work the case.

Mulder gave ViCap kudos for recognizing that; it was the last thing he’d expected to hear considering what most of them thought of him. But he also cursed them for the pressure it put on his partner.

Right now, she was their only hope of finding something, anything that would help the investigation move forward. She had reviewed the findings of previous examiners and was now conducting her own post-mortem examinations, looking for anything that might have been overlooked. Especially in the first victims, before authorities realized the serial nature of the crimes.

Scully was as tough as they came but, observing her now, Mulder could see that she desperately needed a break. Her complexion was paler than usual and the set of her shoulders spoke to how tired she was. He didn’t have to be a doctor to read those signs; she needed food and rest.

“Agent Mulder, any progress?”

Mulder looked over to see his boss approaching. He’d known Skinner would join them at some point, and judging from the rumpled state of his suit, Mulder would say he’d come straight from the airport.

“Nothing new,” he said unhappily. He’d spent all day with the detectives reviewing the case files but it had been a fruitless endeavor so far.

Skinner stopped beside him and cast a scowl through the window Mulder had been staring through moments before. 

“Has Agent Scully found anything?”

“No, I haven’t talked to her since this morning and she would have called had she found anything that might help,” Mulder said.

Skinner nodded absently. “How is she?”

“She needs a break,” Mulder replied, although his answer was probably as needless as Skinner’s question had been. She was Scully, pushing herself to the limit and beyond.

“Well, get her out of there when she finishes this one. Tell her it’s an order from me if you have to,” Skinner said and Mulder met his gaze. “I’m going to go find the hotel and get checked in. Arlene booked me a floor up from you and Scully. If she’s up to it,” Skinner continued with a gesture of his chin toward the window, “we can meet up for a late supper. If not, let’s have breakfast in the morning before the task force meeting.”

“You’re heading it up?” Mulder asked, wondering if ViCAP might send down a guru to run the show.

“Yeah, but you’re my point. I talked to the sheriff, state police director, and National Park Service,” Skinner said, “They’re on board.”

Mulder nodded and looked back to Scully. She had finished up re-sewing the Y-incision and was looking at the child’s face. He watched her touch the little girl’s blonde hair. He wondered if she was thinking of Emily, or if it was a general display of compassion. She had always treated the victims she autopsied with respect, even when horrified or burning with curiosity.

As she pulled the sheet up over the body, Mulder suspected that’s why Donnie Pfaster had provoked such a vehement degree of disgust in her. Pfaster was an affront to her personally and to her chosen speciality as a pathologist.

“I’ll let you know on supper,” Mulder said, “But she’s probably going to fall asleep in the car.”

“Then let’s make it breakfast,” Skinner replied then departed.

Mulder pushed the large swinging door and entered the teal tiled room, approaching his partner as she turned and snapped off her gloves. 

“Nothing. The other examiners did excellent work,” she said as she tossed the latex in the hazard bin and pulled off the goggles and mask. “I’ve sent more tissue samples and bone fragments to the labs for additional testing but I’m not hopeful they’ll turn up anything new. I’ll look at the fragments myself in the morning. You have any luck?”

“Nothing,” he said, watching her weary face draw into a frown. “I’m going out to the known abduction sites tomorrow to see what might be there. If you’re up to going, I’d like you to come with me.”

She nodded as she snatched off the cap. Her red hair fell free and loose, if a bit tangled and smushed from being constricted all day. “I’m going to take a shower then we can head back to the hotel.”

“You could shower there.”

She made a face as she untied the rubber autopsy apron at her back. “No, I don’t want to carry any trace of _this_ to where I plan to sleep.”

There was no mirth in the half-smile Mulder gave his partner, understanding completely why, if she couldn’t keep the images and thoughts at bay, she could try to do something about the smell.

Frankly, he’d always been impressed by how she managed to obliterate the scent from her person when almost every other coroner or medical examiner he’d met carried a whiff of death about them.

“Just give me ten minutes,” she said and headed out of the room, her destination the employee showers.

She rejoined him nine minutes later in the main entrance of the medical examiner’s office, hair still wet but combed back, her power suit in near perfect place. The gold of her little cross winked from her breast bone.

Once in the car, she did exactly what he’d told Skinner she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	20. Room Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A goodnight kiss...

Dana Scully raised an eyebrow at her partner when followed her into her room instead of going into his across the hall.

When he walked past her toward the nightstand, any questions she had about why were answered. Room service. He picked up the menu and asked her what she wanted.

“I can’t,” she said with a little shake of her head. Her stomach was empty and she should eat after all day on her feet but after what she’d seen, the thought of food was off-putting. Three autopsies on dead children; with six more to go.

Of course, Mulder went right for the jugular. “Would you let me use that excuse?”

_Physician heal thyself._

She sighed in surrender, not having the energy to fight with him or throw him out. 

“Soup. Maybe some toast and tea,” she said then grabbed her bedclothes from the dresser and went into the bathroom and started up the shower. 

She hated to take two, one right after the other, but the institutional soap and shampoo at the M.E.’s office had left her skin dry and would make her hair frizz horrifically, plus it left behind an antiseptic scent that she didn’t care to take to bed either. She would take her _go-bag_ tomorrow so she wouldn’t have to double-up.

The hot water felt good. So did the privacy. Even with Mulder in the other room, because it would surprise the hell out of her if he’d left, the ability to shut the door helped her shed more of the day’s stresses. She’d never liked communal showers. Never. Especially when the memory of the last one came unbidden. She roughly shoved it aside, not wanting to think about Diana Fowley, Cassandra Spender, or the smoking man. She already had more than enough nightmare fuel already from the day.

God, she hated autopsying children. It was so tragic. Lives ended before having truly begun. Innocence not just stolen or lost but destroyed. 

She hated that she never forgot their names or faces. Or their lack of the latter. 

The first two victims she’d examined today had been missing most of theirs thanks to time in the water postmortem, prompting her to make a mental note to not eat any fish or seafood while here. Just the thought of it turned her stomach. 

Which is why, when she finished cleaning up, she thanked Mulder for the can of ginger ale that sat next to her soup and tea. He was seated at the table eating his way through what looked like a club sandwich. She was happy to see there were no case files in site. She didn’t want to look at it anymore today unless she had to.

“Skinner wants to meet at breakfast to discuss where we are with the case,” he said as she sat. 

“When did he get in?”

“Couple hours ago, I think. He’s up a floor from us,” he said, picking up his soda and taking a drink. “He’s going to head up the task force.”

That was good. Skinner knew how to get things done. 

“You running lead?” she asked, knowing he was the logical choice. 

“Mmm-hmm,” he said as he shoved the sandwich in his mouth for another bite.

Dana sipped her tea and sighed as the warm liquid slid down her parched throat. It was the perfect sweetness and she smiled seeing the empty packet of sweetener next to a red stirring straw.

Mulder could be very thoughtful, especially when she was weary or overburdened. She appreciated that a great deal and not for the first time, wished her brother would see and acknowledge this aspect of her partner and their partnership. Of course, as it stood, he’d just see it as evidence of his accusations.

She must have made a face because Mulder had stopped chewing and was looking at her in question.

“It’s nothing,” she said, setting her teacup down and picking up her toast. She tore a corner off. “Just a stray thought that I didn’t want to have and would prefer go away.”

“Your brother.” It wasn’t a question.

She paused in chewing. “How did you know?”

“You get this extra crinkle, right here, when you think about him,” he said, gesturing to the spot between his brows using his pinky finger.

“Do I?” she said and felt her frown deepen.

“And that one shows up when you’re surprised,” he said, pointing at her brow again. He smiled as he did it and she couldn’t help but do the same. She might have laughed had she not been so tired.

She sometimes forgot how well he read her. Of course, she didn’t carry around a mirror and pull it out to check out the details of her frowns, or any other facial expressions for that matter.

“Remind me to never play poker with you,” she said then ate another bite of toast. 

“You’d beat my ass at poker, Scully,” he said.

She gave him a tired smile. “If you read me that easily, I highly doubt it.”

One corner of his mouth hooked upward. “You’re inscrutable when you need to be.”

“I don’t lie well, Mulder.” She picked her spoon and dipped it into the soup. “Only when your life is at stake.”

His eyes danced with amusement. “I could have Melvin hold a gun to my head.”

She snorted. “One wink and Frohike would fold like a house of cards in a tornado.”

“I would pay to see that. Actual money,” Mulder laughed.

She loved his laugh, except that fake one he used when they were investigating that uptight suburb. That one was just bizarre and it had taken every ounce of self-discipline she had not to elbow him in the ribs, or some other part of his anatomy.

Currently, she didn’t want to elbow him anywhere. She wanted to hug him and hold on for a few minutes, to find her center so that she could fall asleep. She would ask him to stay, yet another impulse that was becoming a reflex, but with Skinner just one floor up and in possession of their room numbers, it wasn’t wise.

Still, she did not deny herself those few moments of comfort that went beyond the professional. Once they finished eating, he picked up his jacket and headed to the door. She followed him and wrapped her arms around him before he could grasp the doorknob. She rested her head against his chest, ear against him, heedless of her damp hair. 

He hugged her back, murmuring against her scalp. “You okay?”

She nodded and shut her eyes. “Just tired.”

And thankful. He had led her into an absolutely pointless but poignant conversation that eased her mind away from the case. God, she could fuck him senseless for that. She kissed him instead, though, looking up at him then pushing up onto her toes, beckoning him to meet her.

“Thank you,” she breathed against his mouth before capturing it with her own in a slow, sensual caress. More sensual than any before. And just one. Just enough to make her breath flee and her own head spin. 

“Wow,” he said when she eased her hold on him.

Wow. Yeah, that pretty much summed it up for her, too. It summed up a number of things actually. 

She smiled at him.

“What time should I set the alarm?” she asked as she eased toward the bed, unbelting her robe as she went.

“We’re meeting Skinner at the restaurant downstairs at seven.”

“Okay,” she said, shrugging off her robe, revealing a pair of silk pajamas. Not her usual attire on the road but it was too damned hot in Florida for the sweats she’d packed. She’d had to buy the pajamas.

Not hearing the door open, Dana looked over her shoulder and saw Mulder checking out her ass. She was so tempted to give it a little shake but she resisted, somehow, and happily awaited the day when she could and would do it, boldly.

“Get some sleep, Mulder,” she said and his eyes darted up to hers. 

He flushed and she laughed softly. He grinned like a little boy in response but his eyes communicated very much the thoughts and feelings of a grown man. Something quivered low in her belly.

“Goodnight, Scully,” he said softly then eased out of the room. 

She sat on the side of the bed and sighed, staring at the door for several moments before picking up the clock on the nightstand. 

She set the alarm for six then shut off the lamp, slid under the covers, and waited for sleep to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	21. Man or Beast?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder wrestles with his profile...

Two days.

For two days, Fox Mulder had re-interviewed parents, scoured abduction sites, and hoped against hope that his partner would find something, anything that would break the case open. 

All to no avail.

Staring at the case photos spread out in front of him on the table, Mulder scowled at them, his frustration with himself on a steady upward trajectory. 

 _Spooky_ wasn’t so spooky these days. 

By now, Mulder usually had a sense of who he was looking for but so far, he had yet to pick up the psychological scent of this killer. He didn’t know who or _what_ it might be. He didn’t even have any wild urban legend theories to offer. 

Skunk ape? Not likely. Those reports mirrored most Bigfoot claims, classifying it as a benign creature, skittish of human contact, and not a predator.

Gator men? Ghost pirates? Skinner would throttle him if he mentioned either of those, not to mention what Scully would do to him. 

Aliens? No evidence of that whatsoever.

“Man or beast?” Mulder muttered to himself.

If there was one thing the X-files had taught Mulder over the years, it was that it could be either of those things, neither of them, or a combination of the two.

Man made the most sense, considering only children had been killed – that was a specific victim type, possibly targeted precisely because they were children. Of course it could be a member of the animal kingdom that attacks the most vulnerable, which was pretty much the M.O. of all predatory species.

They still hadn’t found any kill sites, which suggested the bodies had been dumped rather than killed near the abduction sites, which suggested a mode of transportation. Unless they had been killed in the water, which could mean men with boats, or a man or an animal with a kill ground concealed within the thick, reedy marshlands and waterways.

Aerial reconnaissance flights so far hadn’t turned up any evidence to support the latter possibility, but it was a huge area. Searches were scheduled to resume at dawn and he planned to join the one to the legendary Lost City, a small site of dilapidated shacks and shanties with a colorful history that spanned from the Civil War to the Prohibition Era.

If children weren’t dying, he’d probably enjoy the field trip but children were dying and he felt more than helpless to do anything about it. They needed a break and he needed to commit to one type of perpetrator or the other soon. But without some sort of forensics evidence, they were at a virtual standstill. 

That made Scully their best hope right now.

She had flown to Quantico yesterday with what few evidence samples the previous examiners had collected, hoping the FBI’s state-of-the-art labs there might have better luck at ferreting out some clue they could use. 

Before leaving, though, she had tempered his expectations. “The extensive predation to the corpse, indeterminate time of immersion, and exposure to the elements have eroded much of their value,” she’d told then given him a tired smile, “But I’ll try.”

He had faith in that, and her, but he wasn’t hopeful about the rest.

She was due back this evening and he wanted to see her. He needed to talk to her, to bounce ideas off her, face to face. She was a hell of a pathologist but she was also a top-notch investigator. He had missed her today, for that particular skill, and for other reasons that he couldn’t afford to think about right now.

Hell, he couldn’t think straight about anything right now. He needed to go for a run and clear his head.

Shoving his chair back from the table and standing, Mulder grabbed his suit coat from the back of the chair and headed out of the large conference room that had been assigned for the task force. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone on the way out but he heard a few of the usual comments as he passed – Bureau gossip always found its way to the ears of locals, given time.

He ignored them as he passed, making a beeline for his Bureau-issued sedan. He tossed his coat into the passenger seat of the burgundy Ford then swung down into the seat. The keys jingled as he put them into the ignition. The air conditioning blasted him when he turned the engine over. He quickly turned his face away from the muggy burst of air. The New Englander cursed the hot Miami winter and questioned the sanity of running at all.

_It should not be 90 degrees in January. Anywhere._

The drive to the hotel was a short one and the elevator to the sixth floor, shorter still. He changed into running attire and was back outside in under fifteen minutes, phone and badge dropped into the deep pockets of his shorts and his pistol clipped at the small of his back. 

He took off without a stretching, his feet pounding the pavement as he ran east, toward the white sand beaches and darkening sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	22. She's Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully returns to Miami

It was an exhausted Dana Scully who returned to Miami.

She went directly from the airport to the hotel. The shower was her next stop in hopes of dispersing the malaise she always felt after spending hours on an airplane and washing away some of the frustration of the last few days. 

She desperately wished she was returning with good news but the samples had been either too small or too compromised to help the case. 

Lack of viable evidence was the singularly most frustrating aspect of being a forensic scientist. Without it, making a case for the courts was impossible. Extrapolating from other data might prove helpful in tracking and capturing a perpetuator, but with no forensics of evidentiary value and without a confession, the case was a lost cause for prosecutors.

Their best hope for the case at this point was finding another victim and that thought made her sick. She didn’t want that. But as a pathologist, she needed a chance to examine a fresh body before anyone else. A chance to bring to bear her years of experience working with the most unusual cases imaginable. 

It’s what Mulder needed, too, and she knew that it made him equally sick.

 _Waiting for someone to die a horrible death should make you sick_ , she thought. 

Shutting her eyes, Dana turned and let the water rain down over her face. She used a gentle soap to wash away her makeup then washed her hair and body. The hot water felt good and eased some of the tension in her neck and shoulders, a product of sitting too long on the damned plane.

Once out of the shower and dressed comfortably, she called Mulder, needing to see him and talk to him, to share the bad news. She should have called him as soon as she landed, but she hadn’t wanted to give him the news over the phone. Of course, he probably already knew since she hadn’t talked to him all day.

He didn’t answer his cell so she went across the hall and knocked on the door to his room. No answer. She called Skinner to find out if he knew where her partner was. 

“I saw him heading out for a run when I came in,” her boss replied then asked for a progress report.

He sighed when she gave him the bad news. 

“We knew it was a long shot, sir,” she said and heard him sigh again.

“We’ll have a run at it again tomorrow, Agent Scully,” Skinner said. “I want you to get some rest and go with Mulder on his search tomorrow. He’s taking a team out to a place that might be a kill area or possibly a hideout. Some place called The Lost City.” 

“The Lost City, sir?” Dana asked, confused. 

Mulder had not mentioned anything like that to her and he usually salivated at the opportunity to enlighten her on the mysteries and myths of a place of interest. The Lost City sounded like something he would have told her about with untold glee, and probably a slideshow.

“Mulder can fill you in on the history of the place,” Skinner said in answer.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Frustrated, like the rest of us. You should talk to him before you turn in.”

“I will,” she said, “Once I find him.”

In the effort to do so, she departed the hotel and headed east on foot, figuring she’d be more likely to spot him from the sidewalk than driving in traffic and the beach wasn’t far away. It was a good place for him to run and think.

After about a half-hour of walking the beachfront, she found him sitting in the sand, just out of the reach of a streetlight’s halo and several yards from the tide’s gentle edge. She took off her shoes and turned up the hem of her pant legs before heading toward him. 

“Mulder,” she said as she neared, shoes dangling from her fingers.

He looked back over his shoulder at her and she offered him the only smile she could muster. It wasn’t much of one.

“Nothing?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, setting her hand on his shoulder and bracing herself as she sunk down to the sand beside him.

The wind coming off the water was cool, making her glad she’d worn a light cardigan. She’d initially donned it to conceal her weapon. His, she noted, was at the small of his back.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. When he broke it, she was surprised at the question. 

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked.

She glanced over at him and found him already gazing at her. She smiled, a brighter one this time.

“I just knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	23. Profiling Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder and Scully discuss the case and get a little closer...

“Who or what are we looking for, Scully?”

Her partner asked the question as he stared out at the churning water of the Atlantic. The moon was just beginning to rise, emitting a bright, cool glow at the edge of the horizon. The light fell blue across the planes of his face. He was frowning, clearly feeling the pressure of the case. Bless him, he was expected to be the profiling wunderkind no matter the circumstances and even though most of the Bureau thought he was a joke. She didn’t. And never had.

“A man,” Dana replied, her eyes returning to the sea. “The wounds on the victims’ bodies are extensive and deep, with traits that suggest something other than a human perpetrator. But, Mulder, this is a man.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” she said. “But there’s something that doesn’t feel right about this being an animal.”

“At least not acting on its own,” he said, paused, then continued, “I’ve been sitting here thinking, Scully. What if this is a man and he is using some sort of animal to kill his victims or to mutilate the body to the extent the injuries might be mistaken for an animal attack.”

“Animal attack was the initial determination in the first three deaths,” she said. “And the autopsies didn’t really find any evidence to indicate otherwise. It was only after more bodies showed up that they became suspicious about manner of death.”

Wind swirled around them, stirring the sand beneath them, grains dancing low across the ground. A strong gust happened on the heels of his next question.

“Any signs of sexual trauma?”

Dana pushed several strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear, for all the good it would do.

“None upon examination,” she said, “But the condition the bodies were in… Other than the bites and deeper trauma, there was no indication that most of the additional accessible wounds were caused by much more than predation, immersion, and exposure. But it’s not impossible.”

“Our killer is highly organized, methodical even, and able to blend in,” Mulder began his profile and she listened, rapt at how his mind worked. She knew he’d been struggling with this part of the case, pouring over details and retracing the steps of previous detectives and trying to make sense of what little reliable physical evidence they had. She was glad to see that his run and break from that pattern had helped him focus. 

“He’s between the ages of 30 to 45, possibly older,” Mulder continued. “He’s patient, even though the multiple deaths in such a short period of time might indicate otherwise. He abducts his victims and holds them for at least three to five days before dumping them but we don’t know how long he’s keeping them alive before he kills them. Or if they’re alive or dead before the bodies are mutilated.”

“If he’s using some animal to enact the mutilations then whatever it is has tremendous bite force,” Dana said, the bones had been crushed and splintered. “Considering where we are, my first guess would be alligator but I would expect some instances of limb loss and longer, lacerating cuts.” 

“They also tend to consume their kills outright or tuck them away in an underwater den until they’re hungry,” Mulder picked up. “We’re finding these victims too fast for that.”

“So what then, if not an alligator?”

“Panthers are native to the region, as are black bears,” he responded.

“Bear, maybe,” Dana commented. “But it would be young based on the size of the bites I’ve seen so far. Of course that rules out an alligator as well, unless it was young.”

“Panther?”

“Panther would be a better match in terms of bite size, but I don’t know that they have the bite force to do the bone damage documented. I have a contact at the Smithsonian. I’ll call them in the morning and see what I can find out,” she said, feeling energized for the first time since they’d taken the case. 

Looking over at Mulder, she thought he looked energized as well. He wasn’t frowning so deeply now.

“I’m going out on the search tomorrow,” he said then.

“Skinner told me. He wants me to go with you to The Lost City,” she said, smiling in spite of the seriousness of what they were facing.

He turned his head and looked at her, a similar smile sliding along his broad mouth. “I’m thinking of picking up a brown fedora and bullwhip for the trip.”

“Indiana Mulder?” she teased.

“It has a ring to it.”

It did, she thought. In a Mulder sort of way.

Reaching out, she brushed a smudge of sand from the side of his face. It had likely gotten trapped in his sweat when he was running. His skin was warm, his day’s growth of whiskers rough against her fingertips. He leaned into her touch, just the slightest bit. She felt rather than saw him move.

“I missed you,” he said and her heart quivered.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t said it before, but there was something in how he said it now that set it apart. It compelled her to answer in kind. 

“Me, too,” she said, letting her palm smooth along the strong line of his jaw while her gaze drifted down to his mouth. 

Yes, kissing him was a reflex now, and she wasn’t sorry for it. Eyes darting back to his, she found him watching her with no small amount of knowing wonder. 

She smiled gently and leaned toward him. Their lips were within a hairsbreadth of meeting when a car horn blared, shattering the moment. He laughed and so did she, dropping her head to his shoulder.

“Can I shoot whoever that is?” she asked in jest.

“Not if I shoot them first.” 

Scully lifted her head and caught his eye.

“Let’s get out of here, Mulder.”

He nodded and he pushed himself to his feet. Once standing, he offered his hand and helped her up. Together then, they began the journey back to the hotel.

Hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	24. Semper Fi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walter Skinner goes for a run...

FBI Assistant Director Walter Skinner was drenched with sweat.

Frustrated with the way the investigation was going, he’d taken a page from Agent Mulder and decided to run it off. It was working, endorphins having kicked in when he turned to run along the most famous stretch of South Beach. It wasn’t his kind of place, too wild and garish for the Marine in him, but it definitely had a place in the world. 

Mulder probably liked it, he thought. The man was, if nothing else, unique and that’s what Skinner would call every building along the road and the persons milling about. But so was Mulder’s partner.

When Skinner paused to do some stretches, he spotted them up ahead, sitting side by side in the sand. They were an interesting pair, polar opposites that worked in near-perfect sync, most of the time. It was hell to be around them when they weren’t and they were a force to be reckoned with when they were united.

Other agents watched them with either envy, suspicion, or derision. Mulder and Scully were either oblivious to the scrutiny, which Skinner doubted, or they just didn’t care, and he’d bet his life on the latter.

Of course rumors abounded as to what went on down in that basement office, between the two agents who seemed to have little to no personal space between them. Most thought them lovers. He’d overheard a few lurid speculations in the cafeteria only to have the gossipmongers clam up when they saw him. 

Skinner hated the gossip but didn’t care if it was true or not. It wasn’t exactly against regulations and they did their jobs, which is all he required as their boss. Personally speaking, though, he could not imagine where either of them would find time to form any other emotional attachment, especially with the obsessive nature of their work, their devotion to one other, and their massive, albeit arguably justified, trust issues.

He’d been their boss going on seven years and he knew they trusted him, but only to a point. Absolute trust was reserved only for each other. Either of them would die before compromising or sacrificing the other. He’d found it almost laughable when Congress had tried to bully Scully into giving up her partner, not to mention the machinations of that cigarette-smoking son of a bitch and his cohorts to separate them.

Scully could never be moved to betray Mulder, or leave his side. They were both stubborn as mules but she was to most people’s surprise the more obstinate of the two. They always underestimated her because of her size, but people rarely made that mistake twice.

Dana Scully was a firebrand of remarkable intelligence, discipline, and strength. When riled, her fury could freeze the Earth to its core or scorch everything in her path. He’d been on the receiving end of her anger a few times – and he admitted he’d deserved several of those instances – and it had been unpleasant to say the least. She was so forthright and principled that she easily shamed those who were compromised in either regard. 

Mulder was equally intelligent and principled, even disciplined in his own way. He possessed a different kind of strength than his partner but he was frequently reckless where she was almost always sensible. 

Both were dedicated and relentless in the face of skepticism and ridicule from within the Bureau and at large, and in resolute defiance of the people who had toyed with their lives over the years. They had been robbed of beloved family members and any hope of having normal relationships. And they lived every day with the knowledge that any one of those people of power could end their lives permanently. But they never give up.

Skinner admired them for that courage and their unflagging determination to explore a realm of truths he had only just glimpsed as a young man. If they loved one another and could find happiness together, after everything that’d happened to them and in the face of everything that could happen, he wouldn’t interfere.

Which was why he allowed himself a little smile when he saw Scully lean toward her partner with an intent clear across the distance. 

Then an idiot honked a horn and derailed everything. 

Skinner shot a look back across the street, looking for the offender. A least a dozen cars were sitting bumper to bumper and he decided he’d never find the jerk if any of the others started honking. Of course, he had no idea what he would have done if he’d tried. He couldn’t very well shoot them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	25. A Kiss ... Goodnight?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we doing this?” she asked on a labored breath but kissed him again before he could answer.
> 
> This part contains explicit sexual content.

She kissed him goodnight. 

And was still kissing him. 

Soft and slow, her bottom lip sucking gently on his top while he returned the favor. He held her face in his hands and kept her close, sliding and fitting his mouth to hers, touching her tongue with his own. 

She dropped her sweater and sank her fingers in his hair. He moved his arms down and around her waist, hands meeting at the small of her back, pulling her closer as he bent further down to keep possession of her mouth. 

He slid his hands down to her ass and she hummed into his mouth. It felt like he’d always thought it would. Taunt with the perfect amount of softness. He reached lower to the backs of her thighs, just below her cheeks and lifted her up. 

She gasped and pulled her mouth from his as her legs automatically went around his waist. She looked at him in the night shadows, the light from the city the only illumination in the room, other than the harsh glare coming from the gap at the bottom of the door.

He focused on the former and how it caressed the defined angles and curves of her face. She was extraordinarily beautiful in her desire.

“Are we doing this?” she asked on a labored breath but kissed him again before he could answer.

He pressed her against the wall, using his body weight to support her while he returned each caress of her lips. 

His heart raced at feeling her breasts flattened against his chest and how hard her nipples were. He could feel the heat of her sex against his belly and was achingly erect just below. He surged against her and pushed her harder against the smooth sheetrock at her back.

His head was spinning, his body yearned, and his heart was doing something else altogether now.

Easing his mouth from hers, he found the smooth skin of her neck and kissed his way from beneath her ear to just above the collar of the blouse she wore. It was soft, white cotton. Casual but not too casual. He let his lips trail along the scooped neckline, never losing contact with her skin. 

He heard her head thunk back against the wall and soft moans. He felt the sounds rising in her throat and followed them up to her mouth again.

Her hands caught his face and pulled him in for a kiss that declared her commitment.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips and she clutched him tighter. 

She did not say the words, but he didn’t expect her to – he didn’t need her to. He knew. He could feel it around him. He was drowning in it and in her. 

He pulled her away from the wall and took her to the bed. He set her on her feet beside it and eased their kiss as they kicked off their shoes and he began peeling away her upper clothing and she his. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the feel of her breasts in his palms.

Perfect fit. Not too much. Not too little. Just right.

He rubbed them and squeezed them and watched her head fall back and heard his name. 

“Yeah,” he breathed and reached for the button of her pants. Her blue eyes watched him as he lowered the zipper at her hip, and when he pushed the garment down her body. Then her panties. He didn’t look at the color, just like hadn’t looked at the color of her bra. He didn’t care. 

He waited as she helped him out of his shorts and socks then picked her up again and crawled onto the bed with her wrapped around him.

Her gaze did not waver from his when he laid her down and stretched out atop her. It reached down deep into his soul and demanded equal openness. Not that he would deny her that, ever. Never when they were skin to skin. He made her that silent promise.

His mouth found hers again and she surrendered everything to it. He felt her body give under him. She was a fluid, sensual creature. There was no sign of the stalwart FBI agent and scientist. There was just Scully. Dana. 

_Dana._

Arms wrapped above her head, he kissed her deeper and pressed his body into the cradle of hers. She undulated under him. 

_Sexy._

He rocked with her, his still restrained cock pressing into the mattress while his belly rubbed against her pussy. His mouth found her cheek and paused at her ear to ask her a suddenly paramount question.

“Can I taste you?” he murmured and she inhaled soft and quick. Her hands found his upper back and clutched him tightly.

“Yes,” she said on a thready exhale. “Please.”

He wasted no time in beginning his journey down her body. He kissed a path down her neck, shifting to explore the little dip at the base of her throat with his tongue and to lightly scrape his teeth along her collarbone. He suckled at each breast, tongued her nipples, then grazed his lips down over her belly, gusting warm breaths across her skin downward toward her pussy.

His hands found her inner thighs and pushed them wide in eagerness. And she let him, her hands cradling his head.

He was just milliseconds away from burying his face in her when his phone rang.

“Shit.” 

Scully said it, not him, but he agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly.

If they weren’t on a critical case he was certain they would ignore it. But they were on a critical case.

He eased away from her, dropping a kiss to her inner thigh, saving the other for later, when he had time to savor her, and tided himself over with a deep breath, taking in her scent. Then he located his phone.

“Mulder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	26. Water's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another body is found...

Dana Scully stared at the corpse of a young boy laying at the edge of the shore and felt her stomach sink.

She’d known it would happen. She hated that she’d needed it to happen. She hated herself for the brief rush of morbid excitement she’d felt at hearing that a new body had been found but balanced it against the hoped that there were answers so that no more had to die.

Easing forward, she withdrew a pair of latex gloves from her pants pocket and pulled them on. She said a prayer for the boy’s soul and for his parents as she knelt beside the body. She thanked whoever directed a flashlight beam to compensate against her shadow, which had fallen across the victim.

“What do you think?”

 _Mulder._ Of course it was Mulder. God, she wanted so much to go back to her hotel room and get lost in him, with him, rather than being here in this living nightmare. It had felt good and she had felt ready.

Pushing away the thoughts and tortuously fresh memories of his kisses and touch, she surveyed the victim’s body, taking in the injuries. 

_God, why?_

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “He doesn’t look to have been in the water very long,” she noted then looked up at her partner. “We need to get him out of here immediately to prevent further damage to the corpse and avoid further contamination and loss of evidence.”

Mulder nodded and called over the crime scene crew. He told them to work fast and get as many photographs of the body in situ as possible so they could get it to the medical examiner’s office.

She moved out of their way and stood with Mulder at the periphery while the crew worked.

“You okay?”

For some reason that question irritated her. 

“I’m fine,” she said and knew she sounded piqued. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t. She glanced up at him. “I’m sorry. This is just…”

“I know,” he said, eyes moving from the body to her. He looked worried, about her. “We’ll talk,” he said.

“Yes. Later,” she said then turned slightly and discreetly touched his hand in assurance, fingertips brushing lightly against the back of his palm.

He gave a little nod and she drifted away to find the medical technicians to give them instructions on how best to handle the body.

It was some six hours later, nearing three in the morning when she finally finished the autopsy and wandered out into the hall to find her partner on the lone bench in the corridor. He was sitting, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, and eyes boring a metaphorical hole in the boring industrial linoleum floor.

He looked worn out and her heart went out to him. For many reasons. But she did have good news, relatively speaking.

“I have something,” she said and his head immediately snapped up. 

“I found a hair in the deepest wound on the thigh. It was partially embedded in the marrow of the femur,” she said and went on to tell him that there was no way a hair could end up in that location as a result of being in the water, or from contamination or predation. “I have other hair, tissue, and fiber samples ready for the labs at Quantico,” she continued, “I’m also having the clothing analyzed, though I don’t know if that’ll turn up anything.” 

She sat on the bench by her partner, his eyes tracking her the entire way.

“Time of death is notoriously difficult if not impossible to determine after a body has been immersed, but I can tell you that the victim showed no signs of drowning, indicating he was already deceased when he was placed in the water,” she said. “Based on the body’s condition and environmental factors, I estimate he was in the water for no more than three hours.”

Mulder shot to his feet and she knew he was about to leave.

“I need to talk to the fishermen who found the body,” he said and turned on his heel.

“Mulder,” she said, quickly catching his hand before he could get away. He look down at her, eyes questioning.

“I’m going to take the samples myself,” she said softly. “I want to oversee the tests.”

He nodded but she could tell only half his mind was with her at the moment. The rest was processing the information she’d given him, running through questions he wanted to ask and probably a dozen other things.

“I’m going to see if Skinner can requisition a private flight on a Bureau jet,” she told him. “The sooner I get there the better.”

He blinked. “You’ll call me when you land?”

She smiled and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“And as as soon as I have anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	27. Night Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully's thoughts drift to Mulder as she flies to Virginia.

The small FBI jet zipped through the East Coast night and Dana Scully gazed out the window at the lights down below. Major cities were easily visible, but there were great swathes of land with little to no lights at all. The rural regions of Georgia, and South and North Carolina were nearly pitch black and would have been if the moon hadn’t been full and rising higher in the sky.

Most of the inhabitants were no doubt sleeping soundly in their beds. Others were not, insomniacs and late shift workers to name two. Some would die peacefully or from sickness. Some would take their own lives. Some would die by the hand of another. Men, women, children, young and old. Death and violence were no respecters of person or position. No one knew that better than law enforcement officers, medical examiners, doctors, and funeral directors.

Dana dealt in death by choice. She could have gone into private practice after med school, or even joined the staff of a hospital and chosen to treat the sick and dying – the path her family had expected. But she’d chosen instead to speak for the dead, to take up their cause through forensic medicine. It was not pleasant work but it was a challenge for her scientific mind and the ultimate reward came in obtaining justice for the deceased.

The hard part was when the latter didn’t happen, but she was determined to not give up. After having just conducted an autopsy on a seven-year-old boy, she was even more committed to that cause, her passion underscored by that of her partner whose pursuit of truth in all forms ignited her own.

He ignited other things, too, and tonight she had been ready to explore that with him.

She could not say why tonight. With them on a case, it was wholly unprofessional behavior but she hadn’t cared. She’d only wanted him. And she still did.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the seat and let her thoughts drift to him. She didn’t moon like a teenager; she remembered enough of what that was like to know. But she did still simmer with desire for him, despite everything that had happened this evening, and she couldn’t bother to feel ashamed about it.

They had given up so much in their cause and lost even more. Surely they were allowed the comfort of each other, the expression of what they felt for each other through physical intimacy. After all this time, after all the pain, the fights, the reunions, the reforging of their bond, stronger each time, surely God would grant them this one normal rite of life and love.

Dana’s lips burned with the memories of their kisses. Her left hand tingled with the memory of his right holding it almost all the way from the beach to the hotel. Warmth slid down her spine at the memory of how his arms had embraced her as a lover. The muscles in her thighs tightened at the memory of his hands grasping the backs of them and lifting her from the floor to make kissing easier. 

Wrapping her body around his had been her undoing and she hadn’t questioned the rightness of it. Chest to chest, the wall at her back. Skin to skin, the bed beneath her. 

Those tactile memories not dreams or fantasies kept her company until the plane landed at the Marine Corps base at Quantico. 

The wind off the Potomac was like ice and Dana shivered and pulled her coat tighter with one hand while the other pulled along her small travel case with the evidence cooler strapped to the top. She didn’t let it out of her sight but did let a Marine place them in the helicopter for her for the short flight to the FBI Academy grounds. 

Skinner had pulled out all stops to get her and the body of young Jason Dupree, an eight-year-old from Naples, Florida, to the Virginia labs. 

As the chopper lifted off, Dana looked back toward the plane to see the body being loaded into a military ambulance for a drive to the FBI Laboratories. She would beat it there and brief the Latent Print Unit on the body’s condition and what she hoped to find: A fingerprint or prints. It was a long shot but it wasn’t without precedent. She was going to have the Trace Evidence Unit take a crack, too. That was an even longer long shot but it couldn’t hurt.

Once at the labs, Dana met with the supervisors on duty and stressed the need for thoroughness and urgency. 

“If the killer continues to follow the established pattern, we have a very short window before another abduction, although it is possible one has already occurred,” she said, looking at each of them in turn; she knew most by reputation if not personally. “Jason is the seventh child found in six weeks. I don’t want to have to autopsy another one.”

She let that hang there a moment and watched her colleagues harden with resolve.

“Let’s get to work,” she said then stepped out into the hall to call Mulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	28. Mulder, It's Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder, it's me...

_“Mulder, it’s me.”_

Fox Mulder felt something deep inside him relax at hearing Scully’s voice. She’d left for Quantico in the early morning hours and he’d been waiting for her call so he’d know she made it there safely, along with the evidence that everyone hoped would provide the break they needed. 

He was preparing to board a helicopter with Skinner to find The Lost City and see if it was a haven for more than legends.

“You there?” he asked, grabbing up his FBI windbreaker and walking toward the helipad as the sun just kissed the horizon.

 _“Landed about an hour ago,”_ she said. _“We’re getting started now. Did you find out anything new from the men who found the body?”_

“Nothing obviously usable but we’re continuing to question them about the usual versus the unusual,” he said, updating her on his efforts. “They are out there almost nightly. Our killer has been active in the area long enough that they may have seen something and not realized it. They may have even crossed paths with him without knowing.”

 _“Did you get any sleep?”_ she asked.

“Did you?” he countered.

Neither of them answered the question.

 _“I’ll head over to the Smithsonian later today,”_ she said instead. _“I want to see what the lab says first on that hair sample.”_

“Sounds good, Scully,” he said then continued, “Listen, I don’t have much time to talk right now. We’re heading out for our search so I may be out of cell range for a while. I’ve been told that service is a bit sketchy where we’re going, but you can reach us via radio through the Sheriff’s Office dispatch or the National Park Service.”

 _“I have those numbers,”_ she said and he wasn’t surprised. It was rare Scully wasn’t prepared.

Mulder heard the startup-whine of the helicopter’s engine and saw the blades and rotor begin to turn. Skinner was several yards ahead, tie flapping over his shoulder in the wind.

“I’ll keep in touch,” he said but felt he should say something else, like the words he’d said last night. But he trusted her to know that and to understand they both had jobs to do. She’d never let him down on that front. Not once.

 _“Be careful, Mulder,”_ he heard her say over the growing noise of the helicopter.

“Skinner’s coming with me,” he said, hoping to allay any worries she had about him traipsing off alone. “I’ll call you soon as I can.”

He disconnected the call and ducked his head to pass under the blades and climb into the cockpit next to the pilot.

He buckled in and put on the headset. “Let’s go,” he said, swirling his index finger in the air.

The pilot nodded and they lifted off the ground and headed into the Florida dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	29. It's Me, Scully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you find anything?”

****“Agent Scully, when’s the last time you slept?”

Dana Scully jerked her head up from the microscope and blinked. _Damn_. She’d dozed off. 

Sitting back on the stool with a sigh, she winced as her body protested. The muscles in her neck ached, and her shoulders and back were sore and knotted with tension.

Dana glanced at her watch, wincing again at the pain that lanced through her neck when she moved her head. Just after noon. She tried to do the mental math of how long since she’d slept but gave up when she couldn’t decide if it forty-nine or fifty-six hours.

“I have no idea,” she told the FBI Laboratory Director Anna Parsons, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck.

A longtime colleague, the tall woman gave her knowing and chiding look. 

“I’m going to have someone drive you home,” she said. “We can handle things for a while and I’ll call if we find anything.”

Dana started to protest because she knew Mulder wasn’t very well resting right now – he was probably providing a feast for mosquitoes and other biting insects – but good sense dictated she take a break. Tired people made mistakes and missed things and she could not afford to do either of those things.

When Dana stepped off the stool, every part of her complained. Hot bath, some sort of food, and a couple hours of good sleep. If she could get all three, she’d be good to keep going.

“If you have someone who can drive me up to Georgetown, I’ll be able to drive myself back later.” She did not want to risk falling asleep behind the wheel; any pride related to self-sufficiency had to take a backseat.

Anna smiled. “Absolutely. Get your things and I’ll have Agent Ridell meet you out front.”

Agent Ridell was a tallish blond in her late twenties, a fresh Academy graduate with her eye on a field assignment where she could “do some good.”

Dana politely listened, or at least tried to. She was losing the fight against exhaustion now that her brain realized rest was in sight. After several instances of jerking awake, she apologized to Agent Ridell, who apologized in return.

“No, I’m sorry. You’re clearly exhausted,” the young woman said. “I’m just in awe of what you do.”

 _Oh God. She’s going to ask about the X-files. Or Mulder. Or both of us._  

This had happened to both of them numerous times over the years, making her almost grateful for the people who treated them like the FBI’s most unwanted, as Mulder put it once. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or curse when her phone started ringing.

 _“It’s me, Scully,”_ came Mulder’s voice when she accepted the call.

There was a lot of static and background noise. 

“Where are you?” she asked, unable to keep the concern from her voice.

 _“Heading back to Miami,”_ he said. 

A burst of static and then a steady _thump-thump-thump_. He was aboard the helicopter.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

 _“What?”_ His voice was strained.

She spoke louder into the phone. “Did you find anything?”

 _“Nothing,”_ he said and she heard his disappointment despite all the noise. _“We did a thorough search but the place took a hit in the last hurricane. There’s not much left.”_

Dana’s heart sank. Back to square one on the ground search. 

 _“We’re dropping off Skinner,”_ Mulder continued. _“I’m going back to last night’s recovery site. I want a look at it in daylight.”_

Dana applauded his dedication, like always, but if he was anywhere near as tired as she was, he needed to do exactly what she was planning before he dropped from exhaustion.

“You should take a break, Mulder. You need to rest,” the doctor in her readily offered the advice and the woman in her seconded it.

 _“I will when I get back but you should go when you can,”_ he said. 

She frowned, worried that he was just telling her what she wanted to hear. He might not outright lie, but he had been known to sidestep her advice if he didn’t want to follow it. Sometimes, though, if she followed her own, he would cave. 

“I’m on my way home now,” she told him, fingers metaphorically crossed.

 _“That’s good,”_ he said then quickly said, _“Hold on.”_

She heard the same background noises as before then he came back over the line.

 _“Scully, Skinner wants you back here in the morning,”_ he said, his tone clearly grim even through the staticky connection. _“We’ve got another abduction.”_

“Jesus, Mulder,” she lamented, her eyes falling shut. Her mind immediately began looking for a course of action, miserable at the thought of spending the next twelve to fourteen hours trying to rest while waiting for test results and anticipating the flight. 

 _“I know,”_ she heard him say.

“I can fly back tonight,” she said, hoping against hope that he would agree. The labs could handle things here if she was needed there.

 _“No, wait until morning. Maybe you’ll have good news to bring back with you,”_ he said then, _“Hang on, Skinner wants to talk to you.”_

There was a pause. More noise. The Assistant Director’s voice.

 _“Agent Scully, I’ve alerted the Director and we’re moving all forensics on this case to top priority. Nothing else gets done until your evidence is processed,”_ Skinner said. _“I know you want to come back immediately but I want you to get some rest and catch the flight in the morning. That’s an order.”_

One she was prepared to immediately forget if Mulder were to change his mind. And Skinner probably knew it.

“What about Mulder?” she asked. “He needs to rest.”

She thought she heard an amused huff, but it might have been her imagination. His answer wasn’t.

 _“I’ll see to it,”_ he said and she took him at his word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	30. A Lead!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully has a forensic lead...

_A lead!_

Briefcase slung over her shoulder, Dana Scully raced through the Miami airport, her phone to her ear. She’d just gotten off the plane when the FBI lab supervisor called with the information she’d been waiting for and now she was sprinting through the terminal to get the pickup area where a car waited. 

_A lead!_

Once past the main security point, she didn’t slow down. She didn’t alter course. She just ran, leaving her luggage behind. She’d get it later, or not at all. She didn’t care about anything other than getting the information to her partner.

Badge and ID in her free hand, she held it up whenever she passed airline or security personnel, shouting “FBI!”, as if the gun on her hip and black wool trench coat in Miami didn’t give her away already.

“Come on, Mulder, pick up,” she muttered then shouted for a group of people to clear a path. “Federal agent! Move aside!”

“Move!” she shouted again when a burly man looked like he might protest. He wisely stepped aside at the second warning and she followed the signage directing her to the pick-up area. 

Mulder answered her call a half-breath later.

“I’ve got something,” she panted into the phone, insanely thankful she kept in shape. “Where are you?”

_“I’m at the airport.”_

“I’m coming to you,” she said moments before she exited through a pair of sliding doors and out into the thick Miami heat.

Adrenalized, she looked left and right, scanning the people and cars, looking for her partner or a terribly unimaginative four-door sedan.

 _“I see you,”_ he said through the phone. Her hair no doubt gave away her location because it certainly wasn’t her height. _“To your left,”_ he said.

She looked left and spotted a waving arm down a ways. She tilted her head left then right to peek between people moving in and out of the terminal. Soon as she caught spotted him, she took off at a run, weaving through the sweaty bodies. 

“I’ve got a lead,” she told him again when she was a few feet away. She noted A.D. Skinner next to him, standing just inside the open front door of the car.

“Get in,” Skinner said, opening the backdoor for her. “We’ll send for your things.”

She ducked into the back seat, swinging her briefcase in front of her while Mulder ran to get in on the other side.

Soon as they were secure in the backseat, Skinner told the driver to go in a tone that indicated he shouldn’t worry about speed limits.

Dana was already opening her bag by the time the sedan peeled away from the curb.

“Hyena,” she said as she pulled out the top file and handed it to Mulder. It contained lab results for other samples, which where helpful but not conclusive – or they hadn’t been until this lead.

“Hyena?” Skinner said, turning in the seat to look back at her.

“Yes, sir,” she specified. “The lab has identified the hair I found embedded in Jason Dupree’s femur as that of a spotted hyena.”

Mulder picked up her train of thought. 

“It’s a common misconception that hyenas are largely scavengers but spotted hyenas are shrewd and prolific killers. They hunt in packs and have been known to take down zebras, young lions, leopards, and anything else the pack can overpower. Their bite force is recognized as one of the strongest of all land mammals,” Mulder said then, when Skinner looked at him oddly, he added, “When Animals Attack on the FOX network.”

Scully smiled ruefully at her partner, not in humor but excitement. He saw the same thing she did: a unique lead that should be easier to trace than something more common. 

“Researchers have measured their bite force at around 1100 psi,” she put into the specifics the lab had related to her, “In the wild, they have been observed crushing the bones of giraffes, lions, and other large predators to obtain the marrow. One such report documented the spotted hyena’s capability to crush the skull of a wolf in one bite.”

“The bones of a child have no chance of withstanding that,” Mulder observed.

 _No. They didn’t_ , she agreed silently and tried not to think about the pain each of the children might have endured before death.

“You’re talking African wildlife, agents, we’re in south Florida,” Skinner said, not so much skeptical as stunned.

“Various species of hyenas, including the spotted hyena, are commonly found in zoos and animal preserves in the United Stares,” Mulder said, “But I think what we’re dealing with here is a private citizen whose taste in house pets runs a bit more extreme than Garfield or Marmaduke.”

Dana pressed redial on her phone and brought it up to her ear. “I’ll get the search started with the exotic animal registries in Florida and surrounding states. We can start with the zoos and preserves next.”

Mulder smiled at her.

“You go, G-woman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	31. Nobody Likes Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder, Scully, Skinner prepare for a raid ... Twenty minutes to showtime.

Fox Mulder cracked open a sunflower seed between his teeth while his fingers tapped an unknown rhythm against the steering wheel. They were minutes away from launching a morning raid on the rural Florida property of one John Micah Warren, wanted in connection with the deaths of seven children and the abduction of an eighth, Alexander Kelly.

To Mulder, the warrant they carried was a formality to satisfy the courts. If no one else was around, he would go in without one. This was the guy. Evidence aside, all it had taken was one look at him, close enough to see his face, and Mulder knew they had the right man. His _spooky sense_ had tingled and was still on high-alert.

He, Skinner, Scully, and several other task force members had spent the better part of the last hour laying amongst tall, insect-ridden grass, surveilling the farm and deciding on when to go. He glanced at his watch.

_Twenty minutes to showtime._

The decision had come after eight hours of watching and hoping Warren would leave the property so they could apprehend him away from where they believed their latest abductee was being kept. So far, though, the man had left his shack of a house a few times, venturing to a surprisingly well-kept barn and spending twenty or so minutes there before returning to the house. Back and forth. Back and forth.

The long-distance audio surveillance equipment had yet to pick up any out-of-the-ordinary sounds from the house. From the barn, they heard nothing. No screams. No hyena laughter. Not even a cow fart. It was dead silent. Too silent, making them believe some sort of sound-deadening materials or technology was in use – probably to conceal the unique vocalizations of hyenas … _and his victims’_.

Unfortunately, county offices were unable to turn up any of the usual building permits that might give a clue to the floor plans, so they would be going in blind, in broad daylight. Mulder worried about how dark it might be inside and how a sudden, extreme shift in illumination could impede reaction time. The eye needed time to adjust and night-vision was out of the question if they wanted to get to the barn at all with their retinas intact.

The house was also a huge question mark. They had some old floor plans from it, supposedly, but Mulder wasn’t sure it was the same structure now standing. It was possible the original structure had been destroyed and the current one was as un-permitted as the barn. He doubted code inspectors made it out to the boonies very often.

Fingertips touched his right hand, where it rested on the console. He looked over at his partner and turned his palm up, letting her fingers clasp his. He ran his thumb across the back of her knuckles when she met his gaze. 

They would be splitting up soon, each with a different tactical team assigned to take the barn. He wasn’t happy about that. He always preferred her beside him in these things. 

“Tell me I’m not the only one of us who wishes we weren’t going in like this,” she said, her eyes moving from his to take in the groups of men wearing tactical gear and strapping on their bullet-proof vests. 

He and Scully already had theirs on and they were hot as hell. His lower back was a veritable swamp.

“You’re worried for the boy,” he said and it wasn’t a question. He was worried, too. So were the others. 

“Mulder, we need to find him fast,” she said, an urgency to her words. “If he’s not dead already, Warren will go after him when we breach.” 

 _To kill him or use him as a shield._ Pedophiles were the worst kinds of cowards. Mulder hated them.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing out the windshield in the general direction of the house and barn. They weren’t close enough to see it now. A handful of officers were continuing to watch the property while the rest of the task force team were getting ready, concealed in a copse of trees and underbrush about the equivalent of a city block away.

A moment of silence, then without urgency, “Do you think he has him in the house or the barn?”

Mulder had wondered about that earlier but he was fairly sure it was the barn. 

“The barn makes the most sense,” he said and shared his reasoning with Scully regarding the frequent trips to the barn and the apparent soundproofing. When she didn’t respond, he knew she agreed; she would argue the other if she thought otherwise. “His pets are in there, too.”

“Hyenas give me the creeps,” she said. “There’e something almost unnatural about them.”

“More than the fluke man?” he asked, hoping to ease a little of the tension that had held them in an iron grip for hours. 

She shot him a look and it wasn’t amused. “Why did you have to bring that up?”

“Perspective?” he offered with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes.

Seeing A.D. Skinner approaching from her side of the car, he squeezed her fingers and eased his hand from hers. He picked up the headset and transceiver that lay on the dash while Scully lowered the passenger side window the rest of the way. They’d had it partially open for venting.

“The forward team is reporting he’s leaving the barn now, ahead of schedule,” their boss said. 

“Are we aborting?” Scully asked, clearly concerned that they might. 

“No,” he said with a little shake of his head. “We’re going to move in now and take him at the house.”

It would be better if they could take him out in the open, but the house was a better option than the barn. Assuming the kid was in the barn. With the hyenas.

Mulder grasped the door handle while his partner grasped hers.

“Let’s go then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	32. Go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walter Skinner was sweating again....

Walter Skinner was sweating again. 

Between the Florida heat and the suspense of laying in wait to catch a killer, he was drenched. He had no doubt that if he took off his kevlar, there would be a vest-shaped sweat stain on his blue button-down.

He shoved the thought aside in irritation and swiped at a trickle of sweat running down his right temple. He flicked away the moisture then ran his hand down his thigh, drying it as best as he could. He didn’t want to lose grip on his pistol at a critical time.

From his vantage point, he could see the two forward teams had split into pairs, prepared to rush the house and barn from either side. He spotted his lead agents each spearheading a team on the bigger structure, where their suspect had returned without warning just before they moved into place. 

He was not happy about that development. Any change in pattern was cause for concern in a case like this. Serial killers were creatures of habit; hence the word “serial.”

Skinner was currently waiting for a signal from the tactical units leader, who was in direct communication with the surveillance team. They were gathering as much intel as possible before advancing. He understood why, even agreed with it, but he hated waiting. 

Mulder and Scully hated it more. They’d been ready to move since last night. Mulder had been adamant that they should, but Skinner and the task force leader had overruled him, saying they need to get a proverbial lay of the land first.

If the partners had been alone on this case, out in the field with no other backup, Skinner was certain they wouldn’t be waiting right now. They wouldn’t have waited at all. They would have been in that barn last night to bring that boy out alive, willingly risking their lives rather than taking the chance that waiting would cost the child his. 

That’s how they did things. Give them probable cause, a reasonable chance of success, and they struck like a bolt of lightning from Thor’s hammer. Skinner didn’t know of any other agents who would even think about it or attempt it without it being some sort of showboating. But Mulder and Scully’s actions were instinctive, maybe not always thought out fully, but definitely without ulterior motive or personal ego at play. They were mission oriented personalities.

Which is why he shouldn’t have been surprised when Mulder suddenly bolted from cover just seconds after the barn door opened, leaving his team behind. Scully, as Skinner could have predicted, reacted immediately, racing from her own concealment toward her partner, gun raised and aimed at the door that was still opening.

The suspect did not react. They hadn’t been heard. 

“Hold!” Skinner said into the mic, not wanting to advance the teams forward just yet, giving his most innovative and dedicated agents a chance to end this quickly. 

They were almost there. It was just seconds but it felt like hours.

The eerie laughter of hyenas suddenly filled the air, sending a chill down Skinner’s spine. The high-pitched squeal of a child followed.

Startled, Warren turned at the first and saw Mulder’s larger form bearing down on him. He quickly retreated into the barn, Mulder on his heels with Scully just behind, both shouting, “Stop! Federal agents!” 

“Shit,” Skinner said under his breath then keyed his mic. “Go, go, go!”

Cursing himself for waiting – _just seconds!_ – Skinner sprinted to the barn, passing the team members moving in tactical crouches. 

Almost to the door.

Shots fired. Two quick. Loud and deep reports. A _big_ revolver.

A shout. “Mulder!”

Furious and alarmed, Skinner advanced into the barn prepared to use his weapon with deadly force, only to see Dana Scully had thrown her tiny body across her partner’s much larger frame, attempting to shield him, while she fired her pistol at their suspect.

The man stood not fifteen feet away, a pistol in hand, aimed at the pair, finger on the trigger.

Three shots blazed from the muzzle of Scully’s Sig Sauer. 

Quick and deadly. 

Two struck center mass. 

The third burrowed between Warren’s eyes. 

His head snapped back and he dropped to the ground.

Blood colored the floor beneath the agents.

The boy was nowhere in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	33. Agent Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrified but determined, Dana Scully yanked at the straps of her partner’s bullet-proof vest...

A terrified but determined, Dana Scully yanked at the straps of her partner’s bullet-proof vest. He was bleeding, hit somewhere just below where the vest ended, and she needed to find the wound and assess it.

Her heart had practically hurdled her lungs when she saw him twist and fall after the second shot. The organ almost succeeded when Warren prepared to fire again.

All she’d been able to think about was protecting Mulder and neutralizing the man who shot him. She’d just leapt to protect him and fired her pistol at Warren. Now she was trying to find where the man’s bullet had struck.

“Agent down! We need a medical evac!” she shouted hearing the scuffle of feet behind her. She threw the front panel of Mulder’s vest to the far side of his prone form. “Find the boy"

She heard Skinner echoing her orders. The hyenas continued to vocalize their excitement and the demented sound grated on her already-jangled nerves.

“Somebody shut those damn things up!” she called out as she looked up at Mulder’s face.

His eyes were open and he appeared a little dazed. She said his name and his eyes found hers.

“You with me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t think so.”

He blinked then grimaced as her hands worked blindly on the top buttons of his shirt. She managed the first few then grabbed the material and ripped the rest free with a quick jerk.

“Where are you hit?” she asked the question to help gauge his level of awareness and assess concussion potential.

She could already see where he was hit: his flank, just above his hip bone. She could see a growing wet spot darkening his already dark trousers. Blood was on the floor beneath his butt and side.

“My side, I think,” he said. “I don’t know why they call those vests bullet-proof.”

“It hit below the vest,” she informed him then asked, “Did the first shot hit you?”

“Went right by my ear,” he replied. “Sounded like a mosquito.”

She believed him but still did a quick visual inventory of the rest of his body, looking for any other signs of injury. She would think about what the near miss meant later, when she was alone and could cry if she needed to. For now, she quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers.

He grunted in obvious pain but she knew he was smirking when he commented, “You know, Scully, if I’d known you wanted in my pants that bad I would have–”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she cut him off and shot him a probably pointless glare as she worked the material down as gently as possibly. She just needed to see the wound. He groaned again.

“Sorry,” she apologized and meant it.

“It’s okay,” he said as she leaned over and peered around his flank to make sure the slug had exited on a parallel path to the entry. Bullets did weird things once entering the human body and she wanted to make sure it hadn’t taken a detour north into vital organ territory. She breathed an inward sign of relief at what she found. 

 _Parallel trajectory._ _Clean exit wound._

“It went clean through but I need to stem the bleeding,” she told Mulder then called out over the still howling hyenas for someone to bring her some kind of cloth, as clean as possible. “It can be a shirt, jacket, anything,” she said, keeping both hands on the wound when she asked, irritated, “Where are the paramedics?”

“On their way,” came Skinner’s voice. She looked up to see him kneel at Mulder’s other side and hold out a white t-shirt.

“How is he?” Skinner asked as she took the shirt.

“Just peachy, Walter,” Mulder quipped.

“Shut up, Mulder,” Skinner echoed her earlier sentiment while she placed the t-shirt over Mulder’s wound, front and back, and reapplied pressure. Her partner hissed.

“It’s a flesh wound,” she told Skinner, not hiding her concern. “But he’s bleeding quite a bit. I need to get him to the hospital.”

“Agent Scully?”

Dana looked up to see an officer in tactical gear standing a few feet behind Skinner. He had his assault rifle slung along his side and was holding his helmet in one hand.

“We’ve found the boy,” he said. 

Dana’s heart leapt with hope.

“Is he alive?” Skinner asked the hard question.

The man nodded and Dana glanced at Mulder. She watched his eyes close in relief. 

“Yes, sir, but we can’t get him to come out,” the officer said. “He’s asking for his mother.”

Mulder’s eyes reopened and he fixed her with a knowing look. She wasn’t the boy’s mother. She couldn’t even be a mother. But this boy needed one and since she was the only female present…

“Go,” Mulder said. 

“Go, Scully,” Skinner echoed, his hands covering hers lightly, indicating he would take over for her.

She looked up at him and did not hide her reluctance to leave her partner while injured.

“The paramedics will be here in a few minutes. I can take care of Rambo here until then,” he said with a tilt of his head in Mulder’s direction.

She glanced once more at Mulder and he nodded in ascent. She really didn’t want to leave him, not with him actively bleeding, despite knowing his situation wasn’t acute, yet.

“Go, Scully,” Mulder told her again. “I’m not checking out on you today.”

She went, but not before getting the last word.

“You’d better not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	34. Thumbs Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fox Mulder watched from the stretcher as his partner walked toward the helicopter with a small boy in her arms...

Fox Mulder watched from the stretcher as his partner walked toward the helicopter with a small boy in her arms. 

He couldn’t hear over the pitch of the rotor but he could see that she was talking to him, one arm around his legs, the other around his shoulders. The child was wrapped in a gray blanket, undoubtedly in shock, otherwise the heavy material would be entirely unnecessary. 

Even lying inside the air-conditioned medical chopper, Mulder could feel the heat. It reached several inches inside the cabin before the fans were able to halt its progress and they briefly lost that battle whenever the wind blew. 

Mulder would be glad when that door was closed and they were off the ground. He wanted out of Florida in general but knew that wasn’t going to happen right away. Between his injury and wrapping up any paperwork and other investigative and legal formalities, they would probably be here anywhere from a few days to a week. 

He knew Scully wanted out just as bad. Just a week earlier, she’d been ecstatic to get out of Washington for any reason but this case had taken a toll. Between the nature of it and the numerous trips back and forth to Quantico, she was exhausted. But it had been worth it and he knew she’d agree. Her hard work had paid off. The red-haired boy in her arms was proof of that. And a bit of a double-edged blade when he compared the fiery hue of her hair to Alexander’s.

_She should be a mother._

“Okay, Alex, I’m going to put you up here, okay and I’ll get in right behind you,” Mulder heard her tell the boy before setting him just inside the cabin. The flight medic started to help him the rest of the way in but the boy shied away, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he reached back for Scully.

“Let her handle it,” Mulder said and the man looked over at him. “Just move over to the other seat.”

The man moved and Scully urged Alex to stand. She grasped the side of the craft and pulled herself up and took up the seat just vacated by the medic. The child immediately went to her, crawling into her lap before she could even finish buckling the seatbelt around herself. She managed to get it on anyway then eased her arm around the kid and retrieved the blanket from where it had fallen. Skinner stuck his head inside the craft while she situated the material around the boy’s narrow shoulders.

“The hospital’s been alerted that your coming. Detective Boyle is with the parents now. They’ll meet you at the hospital. We’ll get your statements there and follow up with everything else over the next few days,” he said, speaking louder than normal to be heard over the helicopter. “I’ll handle the scene here and will meet up with you soon as I can tonight.”

Mulder gave the man a thumbs up. Scully nodded. 

Skinner flashed a thumbs up in return then closed the cabin door, shutting the heat out but unfortunately, not all the noise. At least they could no longer hear the hyenas.

As the craft lifted from the ground, Mulder took a deep breath of cool air and looked over at his partner. She was watching him over the top of the boy’s head.

“You okay?” she asked over the muted sounds of the chopper. 

The boy quickly looked his direction, eyes wide, apparently just having noticed his presence. He looked positively terrified and stiffened in Scully’s arms. 

The medic handed Mulder a headset and then one to Scully. He had his on before her but the mic picked up what she was telling the boy when she ducked her head down next to the child’s ear.

“It’s okay, Alex. That’s my friend. His name is Mulder.”

Mulder gave the kid a thumbs up, like he had Skinner, and had no idea why that was a thing today.

The kid didn’t return the gesture but he did relax back against Scully’s chest, tucking his head just under her chin. She managed to wrangle her headset on one-handed then asked the medic for something to cover the boy’s ears.

A standard set of earphones, no cords or cables was handed back from the cockpit. Scully showed them to the boy then helped him put them on. Then he snuggled back against her despite the awkwardness of the earphones.

Her concerned eyes turned to Mulder then. “How are you feeling?”

“They gave me the good stuff,” he told her, grinning like a fool.

The medic’s chuckle came over the headset. Scully glanced over at him, all business. “What’s his status?”

He looked at her oddly and Mulder knew what was coming. She was not just a female agent who could handle a kid and wore a gun.

“I’m a medical doctor,” she told the man, gaze unwavering.

The medic looked impressed, which Mulder knew would just piss off some part of her, but she absorbed the backhanded compliment and listened when the man answered. 

“He’s stable. Heart rate is a steady 70. Pulse is strong. No apparent sign of concussion or other injury. We managed to slow the bleeding but didn’t close off the wound completely to avoid infection.”

“Good,” she said, then asked, “What’s our ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes out,” came the pilot’s voice over the headset. “We’ll be making a rooftop landing if you want to prepare the boy.”

Mulder watched as she thanked the pilot then looked down at the boy. The kid had fallen asleep, placing his complete trust in Scully. Mulder knew what that felt like, how comforting it was to be able to rely on her completely. 

He’d done so today. 

When he’d spotted the hyenas in the barn, he’d known they had only a few seconds before the animals scented the sweaty, anxious men lying in wait. They were too close for any predator to miss, so he’d taken off and hoped against everything he could move fast enough to give them a chance, to at least prevent Warren from closing the door and locking them out.

He’d known Scully would follow without question and her unswerving loyalty had again saved his life. And it had saved the boy’s. Mulder had no doubt that if they’d failed to keep the door open, the boy would now be dead.

Mulder watched his partner brush her fingers through the boy’s hair, where it had fallen against his little forehead. Her expression was bittersweet and he felt for her. 

She must have sensed Mulder’s gaze because her eyes darted to him. They were a bit misty and he wished they were elsewhere so maybe she would let him hold her and kiss her brow. Or at least so she wouldn’t be so exposed.

Despite the victory of the day, he knew that caring for a child in a motherly way inevitably  reminded her of what she couldn’t have. Of what was taken from her. 

It reminded him, too, and he did the stupidest thing imaginable to let her know he understood.

He gave her a thumbs up.

She gave him a little smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	35. Confessions in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can hear you thinking.”

They call New York the city that never sleeps but Miami doesn’t either. 

Curled in the chair by the window of her hotel room, Dana Scully took in the colorful signs for the restaurants and bars along the street and the vibrancy of the people making their way farther east, toward the beach drive. 

Her local peers had gone out tonight to celebrate a job well done, but she’d just wanted to take a long, hot bath, have a nice, quiet supper, and sleep with her partner. She’d already done the first two. The third, well, she couldn’t sleep.

In the three days since they’d rescued young Alex from his would-be killer, she had been caught up in the whirlwind of bureaucracy. She’d doted Is and crossed Ts, in triplicate. She’d typed up reports on her computer and printed them out to put in folders that would go into evidence in both Washington and Miami. With Warren dead there would be no trial, but paperwork never stopped.

Mulder had been in the hospital for two of those days so she’d done his share of paperwork as well. He’d read over the reports and signed off on them just this afternoon, after his release from the hospital.

With Skinner back in Washington, having left yesterday, her partner slept now in her bed. He was going to be okay. She’d known when she’d initially assessed the wound but she felt lucky that he was still here with her, safe, if not altogether sound.

Dana supposed her disquiet was because she’d taken a life. She’d done it before; it was never pleasant and with this particular one, she thought she should have felt a sense of relief. She supposed she did in some ways, but not in others. 

As a doctor, she’d taken an oath to do no harm but that tenet sometimes conflicted with what her oath as an FBI agent required. If anyone had been deserving of three bullets, it was John Micah Warren. Dana just didn’t relish being judge, jury, _and_ executioner. Still, she knew her acting in those capacities had saved Mulder’s life, and that little boy’s, and future victims, so she would live with whatever came with it.

She tried not to think of Alex with his big blue eyes and bright red hair. She’d known what he looked like before the raid, from the pictures his parents had supplied to aid in the search for their only son. The boy didn’t look like her, not even close, but being confronted with him, with those eyes and hair, had made her think things best left unthought. 

Mulder thought those things with her and for her. He always did when he saw her with a child, no matter the color of their eyes or hair, or even whether or not they favored her. Wistful wonder with a dash of guilt. That’s what he let her see. That, and love.

For the first time in days, Dana allowed herself to truly think about how close they’d come to making love a few days ago, and how much she wanted that with him. Especially now, after she could have lost him. The thought of never experiencing that with him, of losing him before they could enjoy each other as lovers was psychically painful. She wondered if he felt the same or if she was being overly maudlin in light of everything else.

“I can hear you thinking.”

The words did not come from the bed, but closer. She looked up to see Mulder nearing, the city lights bathing his bare arms, legs, and torso. Her eyes glanced to his flank where a white bandage was taped. She wondered where his t-shirt went because he’d worn one to bed.

“I’m fine,” he told her and sat in the chair across from her. 

She noted that he lowered carefully but didn’t sit all the way back. He didn’t seem to be in much pain, though.

“That’s my line,” she said, an intimate smile emerging.

His eyes danced and his mouth curled up into an easy smile.

“Don’t worry, Scully,” he said. 

She sighed. “I always worry, Mulder.”

“I know,” he said, then softer, “But don’t tonight.”

She knew what he was saying. That he was here, with her, breathing and not bleeding.

“I’ll try not to,” she promised as much as she could.

In acceptance, he sat back in the chair and firmly planted his feet, legs spread wide enough for her to give her a decent look at what he had to offer if she got him out of those boxers. She flushed at the thought. She had never _really_ looked at him like _that_ , certainly not so salaciously. But now that she had, she couldn’t not look.

“See something you like?”

Dana blushed profusely and highly suspected she would currently give a certain red-nosed reindeer a run for his money, only more than her nose was glowing. A flush rushed upward from her chest, along her neck until her whole face and even the tips of her ears burned with a combination of arousal and contrition for having been caught ogling him.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized but he just smiled a slow, sexy smile.

“Don’t be.” His voice was softer than soft when he confessed, “I haven’t sought that kind of attention in a long time.”

“You mean being seen as desirable, in a sexual context?” she asked, curious.

He just continued to smile.

“Sex itself is a biological mandate,” he said, “As a species, we are driven by it for a number of necessary and practical reasons, but desirability is more esoteric.”

She smiled, loving the sound of his voice in the shadows. How many times had they talked in the dark or near dark, on a case or on her couch or his after watching a movie? Had he ever sounded as desirable as he did right now? 

“And the desire to be desired?” she prodded.

“A very human trait. Although not exclusive to humans or the female gender, as some believe,” he said, then added with wry amusement and a nod toward his groin, “Clearly.”

“Clearly,” she laughed softly and he chuckled, a quiet, low sound in the night.

They fell silent for a few moments before she laughed again and shook her head as a thought occurred to her.

“What?” he asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. The same curiosity that had gotten them into trouble more than once.

“Only we would have pillow talk _before_ sex,” she smiled.

His curiosity took on a different mood, amusement with an undercurrent of seduction.

“You mean confessions of the soul, or the flesh, as the case may be?”

“Yes,” she said. That was exactly it. They had talked about a lot of things over the years, but they were not always confessional. To be as close as they were, there were details of their lives before the X-files that they had yet to share.

“Have anything you want to get off your chest, Scully?” he asked suggestively then tipped his chin in her direction, “Other than the shirt?”

She warmed at the suggestion and smiled but also seriously considered the question. They were in the same boat, their lives entirely too busy to consider dressing to kill and hanging out in clubs and bars on the weekend, hoping to pick up Mr. or Mrs. Right, or even a one-night fling. She could think of only one thing that he might want to know and right what retrospectively some might consider a wrong.

She glanced down to her hands, which were clasped loosely in her lap. She flexed her fingers then looked up at him again.

“I didn’t have sex with Ed Jerse,” she said and watched his eyes widen. “I know,” she said softly. “I let you believe otherwise.”

“Why?” he asked, no accusation or confusion, just surprise.

A corner of her mouth quirked up in spite of the subject. 

“If you’ll recall, I was rather upset with you at the time,” she said but then shook her head. because that wasn’t really true. She had been upset with him, but he hadn’t triggered the anger or the malaise or the other things.

“No, that’s not really true, Mulder,” she said, still shaking her head. “I wasn’t angry with you. It actually had very little to do with you.”

He looked thoughtful. “I remember you saying something of the sort at the time.”

She had, so she told him the truth now, never wanting him to wonder.

“I had cancer,” she said with only the slightest twinge of phantom pain behind her sphenoidal sinus. “I hadn’t been diagnosed yet, but I knew.”

Sadness crossed his face but didn’t settle into his features. Recognition did. 

“Leonard Betts.”

She nodded. 

“I was angry with the absolute unfairness of it. They’d already taken my chance to have children and then they were taking my life,” she said with surprisingly little bitterness. Then she smiled shyly, confessing, “I went a little wild.”

His full lower lip bowed gently. “And what constitutes wild for Dr. Dana Katherine Scully, FBI agent extraordinaire?”

She didn’t prevaricate because he already knew, for the most part.

“Drinking too much with a stranger in a strange bar in a strange city,” she said. “Getting a tattoo and almost fucking said stranger.”

He did not startle at the coarse word. He hadn’t the first time she’d said it either.

“Why didn’t you?”

She tilted her head but did not break her gaze from his. 

“I remembered who I was and what was coming,” she said softly, recalling the moment she’d come face to face with how reckless she was being and how dangerous it was for anyone to get into bed with a stranger. But it was how much the danger had turned her that ultimately stopped her. “It wasn’t the last memory I wanted to have of that particular pleasure,” she told Mulder what she’d concluded that night. “It would have been meaningless.”

Her partner looked at her levelly. “No one would have judged you if you had accepted what he offered.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Didn’t you? The police certainly did. Female FBI agent discovered in the company of a man suspected of murdering women in his building.”

“You didn’t know, Scully,” Mulder said and she saw a compassion that had been distant at the time and was grateful for it. He hadn’t exactly ridiculed her then but she knew her choice of a stranger, not just Jerse specifically, had bothered him.

“No,” she said softly. “And he wouldn’t have been my first choice even if he had been well, and not a killer.”

“But he was there and interested,” he said. 

“Yes,” she said and he looked out the window. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“We weren’t in a good place,” he said after a few moments.

“No,” she agreed.

Mulder’s eyes drifted back to her. _So much remorse … and regret._

“You resented me and the work,” he said, “And I resented being resented.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t resent you, Mulder. I resented a lot of things at that time, including how much the work had taken over my life and certain presumptions you had a tendency to make. But I never resented _you_.”

He looked skeptical and that was her fault. She’d let him believe otherwise for too many years. The days following that disaster of a weekend had been some of the roughest of their partnership but after she’d gathered the courage to see her doctor, things had changed for them and they’d grown closer.

“Do you know why I told you about the cancer first and not my mother?”

His hesitation to answer either way told her he didn’t. She hadn’t known for months herself, not until a very enlightening conversation she’d had with the Bureau social worker Karen Kosseff. 

Tears welled in Dana’s eyes now as they had then.

“Because you give me courage in the face of insurmountable odds and because I needed your strength and your passion to fight,” she said softly. “For all that my mother loves me, Mulder, she would have had me check into a hospital and await whatever fate medicine could or could not provide.” Pausing, she shook her head and held his gaze. “But that was not how I wanted to live what life I had before me.”

“Whether it was days or weeks or months or years,” she continued, “I wanted to be with you, walking your path, because it has become my own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	36. Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder and Scully indulge in a little show and tell...
> 
> This part contains explicit content.

“Do you still have it?”

They had been sitting in silence for some time after her emotional confession, both of them looking out the window, when he asked the question. At first Dana didn’t know what he was talking about but then she remembered what they’d been discussing. She snorted and looked at him.

“Didn’t you get a look in Antartica?”

He laughed for the second time of the night and she was happy to hear it, afraid that perhaps she’d upset the mood earlier.

“I practically had an alien up my ass, Scully. I didn’t exactly have time to stop and look at yours.”

“And the other night?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

“We didn’t exactly play show and tell.”

No, they hadn’t and she warmed at the memory of sleek, hungry kisses and the need for eye contact as they reached for one another. She wanted to return to that moment when she’d known she was ready. That third kiss when he’d taken her face in his large hands and kept her close, and made her kiss his. 

Her name said softly drew her from her thoughts, making her realize his expression was no longer one of amusement but of undisguised sensuality. She wonder if her face revealed the same.

“Do you want to see?” he asked.

The question was the single most erotic one she’d ever been asked and her body responded with a flush that ran down instead of up. 

“I’ve seen you before,” she reminded him on an unsteady breath.

“Not like this,” he said. “Not this way.”

She could not deny either assertion. She’d seen him as his doctor. She’d seen him as his friend and partner in a Rhode Island motel after he’d awoken with no memory and covered in blood. She hadn’t seen him as a lover, though, which was what he was offering her now. She looked down at his groin and the prominent bulge laying across his left thigh.

“Show me,” she said and her breath quickened when his hands casually moved to the waistband of his boxers.

Blood rushed to her sex, engorging the sensitive flesh, and her nipples hardened to aching points as he slowly drew the material away from his body. She bit her bottom lip when he slipped his hand inside and slowly cradled and lifted his penis and testicles out of the confines of his underwear. He moved his hands away then and let her look.

Jesus. She’d known but, God, he was magnificently made and she was stunned that some part of her hadn’t considered him that way before. She wondered if she’d ever be able to look at him again and not think of him sitting here like this, on display just for her, because it’s what she wanted. 

God, but she desired him, and she loved him in this moment with a burning intensity that made her earlier blush seem like a match strike in the midst of a full-blown wildfire.

“Dana.”

The way he said her given name spoke directly to her soul. Her eyes found his and she saw the same desire and love, for her.

Every part of her trembling, she slowly uncurled from her chair and moved to stand in front of him. 

“Show me,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers.

She complied, her fingers curling into the hem of her sleep shirt then pulling it up and off. She dropped garment to the floor near his foot and his eyes moved over her body and stopped at her still concealed sex. His scrutiny made her noticeably wet.

She watched him watch her as she pushed her panties down past her hips. His breath audibly hitched when the thin cotton caught at her knees. A scissoring of her legs sent them on their way and her foot dispatched them into the shadows of the room, somewhere. She didn’t care where.

Unashamed, she stood in front of him, as on display as he was for her. 

He was erect now, his cock growing before her eyes and jutting out toward her like a divining rod. She would have made a joke he would appreciate had she been capable of thought or speech at just that moment.

But all she could think was how he couldn’t pick her up tonight so she wouldn’t be able to feel him over her, his body pressing her into the mattress. She thought about how he shouldn’t be doing anything other than resting but that she possessed neither the desire or willpower to call and end to what they were doing.

She reached and touched his cheek with a sensual fondness. He turned his head and kissed her palm. She turned around then, slowly, and showed him her back.

His fingertips touched her skin and she shivered. Her eyes fell shut as she flashed on the memory of their first case, that Oregon motel, the power out, revealing herself to him, him kneeling behind her with a candle, touching her with gentle fingers and easing her fears. 

Did he remember? She asked him. 

“Yes,” he told her and her heart skipped a beat. “You were so frightened, but so brave.”

“I was anything but brave,” she said, recalling the abject terror that had sent her barely dressed to his door.

“You faced your fears. You sought answers. You opened yourself up to possibilities,” he said. “That takes extraordinary courage, Scully.”

She reached back for him, needing the contact as she threatened to come apart as the object of both his desire and praise. He gently curled his left hand around hers and laced their fingers while his right lightly traced the colorful serpent. She quivered beneath his touch.

“Why did you keep it?” he asked before he reached the end and began the loop again.

She tightened her fingers around his and took an unsteady breath. The answer was one she’d never told a soul and barely acknowledged to herself. But she would tell him, here, now, as he touched her, simply because he wanted to know.

“Because at the end,” she whispered, tears forming, “your determination gave me back my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	37. The Flight Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder ruminates on their flight home to Washington...
> 
> This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

She was holding his hand on their flight home. 

While checking out of the hotel, she had been the calm, cool professional he’d always known her to be, that everyone else always saw. No one would have ever guessed she’d slept with him, her partner, naked, with her perfect ass nestled against his cock all night.

It wasn’t really how either of them had wanted the evening to end but she’d nixed sex outright for fear he’d end up back in the hospital and they’d have to come up with some plausible explanation for Skinner without flat-out lying. That and he’d tweaked his side getting up from the chair.

She’d checked the wound this morning before he’d taken a very awkward shower, trying not to get it too wet. Then she’d re-bandaged it before he dressed. 

In the cab ride to the airport, she’d called Skinner and informed him that they were on their way back to Washington and that he, Mulder, was under doctor’s restrictions for at least another week but could return to work in a few days. 

“Work in the office,” she’d clarified with a knowing look at him. “No field action until cleared by a Bureau physician.

Mulder was kinda bummed about that and could tell she wasn’t happy with it either, but she was nowhere near as unhappy as she’d been before this last case. She was tired and needed to regroup. The two roundtrips to Quantico in the span of two days had yet to catch up with her, but he knew it would once she was home. _Or on the airplane ride home_ , he mused, looking over to see her head leaned against the window frame.

The woman could fall asleep anywhere. He could stay awake for days and not realize it. They were an interesting pair. Last night was absolute proof of it.

 _“Pillow talk_ before _sex.”_

That’s what she’d said last night and he supposed that was true. But if it was then they’d been engaged in it for years in some ways. Well, he’d probably label most of _that_ foreplay. One thing was sure, they engaged at an intellectual and emotional level that he never had with a past lover. 

He’d had things in common with Diana; they’d shared a passion for the work but her loyalty had never been completely to him or the X-files, either time. Phoebe had shared his impulsivity but not his sense of truth or fidelity. He thought both had loved him in their own way but ultimately had little interest in him in the end. Both had left him with a broken heart.

In contrast, Dana Scully mended his heart whenever she broke it, which happened, but rarely. She also shared his passion for the truth and was unswerving in her loyalty to him and by extension, the work. But he came first in the equation for her. She had always made that clear. 

_“Mulder, I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anyone but you.”_

Less than a year into their partnership and that’s what she’d said to him, on an unauthorized stakeout no less. If he’d had any doubts about whether she’d meant the case or him, all he had to do was look at what she’d done for him in the years since. And she was still with him, still covering his ass, still watching his back, and still saving his life.

After last night, he could add something new to the list of things Scully did for him: she made him feel desired. 

The way she’d looked at his cock with blatant want and admiration….

Yeah, he’d liked that and if he hadn’t been injured, he’d have been across the room in a flash and taken her there against the window for all of downtown Miami to see if they but looked. And, he thought, she probably would have let him.

After getting into bed, instead of spooning right away, she’d faced him and tangled her legs with his. Then she’d asked him to kiss her. He had and she’d gone soft in his arms again, letting him take the lead, setting herself apart in yet another way.

Both Phoebe and Diana had bedded _him_ , not quite the other way around. When it came time with Scully, she would, he thought, let _him_ bed _her._ There was something incredibly alluring about that, in knowing she would trust him even in that and willingly lay aside her ironclad self-control.

His partner was alluring period, from her mind to her body.

After all the years they’d been together, through so many things, it amazed him that she was still something of an enigma. Her midnight confessions had certainly surprised him. The Jerse thing especially… 

Mulder had thought for sure she’d slept with the man. She had let him believe it and he’d been stunned and royally jealous at the time. He’d as much as confessed that last night, not that she hadn’t already known. 

But then again openly acknowledging the sexual aspect of her was as new to him as his was to her. Which was probably why they weren’t rushing anything. Of course if someone hadn’t called that fateful night, he was sure they would’ve consummated things between them already.

Mulder would be more upset about that interruption if the case hadn’t been the priority. If people were endanger or dead with more lives were on the line, they would always be FBI agents first.

Friends would be second. Lovers would be third on the list, possibly lower, depending on circumstances. No matter how sexually compatible they might be, sex would never take those top two slots and he wouldn’t have it otherwise. He knew she wouldn’t either.

Making love with a friend. Now that was something he’d never experienced. Sex with a friend, yes, that’d happened a few times. But not real intimacy, not with a friend like Scully who was as much a part of him as his own heart. He could no more live without her than he could the organ that pumped blood through is body. To lose her would leave him dead in every way that mattered.

He’d told her once that he cared only about finding the truth of what had happened to his sister. _Nothing else matters_ , that’s what he’d said to Scully that night in Oregon, the same night he’d touched her bare skin for the first time. It had been true then, but it wasn’t any longer. He still wanted the truth, but he didn’t yearn for it with the same blinding need. No, that had been relegated to the woman in the seat next to his.

Intelligent, faithful, and unrelenting. Red hair, blue eyes, and five-foot, three-inches without heels, if that. Beautiful breasts, gorgeous ass, and a pussy he longed to bury his cock in. Hopefully soon.

Considering some part of him – either his shoulder or upper arm – had been her pillow of late, he felt a bit jealous of the plane just now. Smiling at ridiculousness of that thought, he reached his free hand over and touched her cheek, just a quick little stroke of his fingertip. That brought her around, although she didn’t startle like she sometimes did. No, this time, a corner of her mouth turned up into a smile before she actually opened her eyes.

“I’ve got a perfectly good shoulder here,” he invited. 

She sat up slowly and leaned toward him, moving like a pendulum on a clock, drawing her hand from his and tucking it into her lap with the other one as her head came to rest against his shoulder.

“Thank you, that window is cold,” she breathed and nuzzled her head against his body like she might a pillow. “You’re warm,” she said, settling.

He smirked.

“You can sleep anywhere,” he observed.

“Unless we’re in the woods with red-eyed mothmen,” she muttered.

He laughed softly.

“Get a little more sleep, Scully,” he said, craning to kiss the top of her head. “We’ve got about an hour before we land at Dulles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	38. A Not-So-Simple Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode Reference: Per Manum

He was stunned.

Looking at his partner, perched on his coffee table, directly in front of him, he was absolutely stunned. 

“Scully,” he said because it was the only thing he could think to say.

“I know this comes as a surprise,” she said, her pleading blue eyes darting down to her tightly clasped hands. Her knuckles were white. “It did to me, too.”

He could imagine. When he’d told her that her ova weren’t viable, he’d been positive of that information. He’d thought she’d be upset with him for not telling her he’d found them. But now, here she was telling him they were viable, and that she wanted _him_ to make the other critical contribution to her hope of having a child. _His_ child in literal essence.

_Jesus Christ._

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” she said, her voice thick with anxiety and hope.

 _But it wasn’t really a lot to ask_ , he thought, not in practical terms at least. Give him some decent pornography, a plastic cup with a label, and a little time alone with his right hand and he could give what was needed. But there was more to this situation than that. 

They’d been on the road to beginning a physical relationship for weeks, and he was rather enjoying the dance of it, even if he was developing an epic case of blue balls. He didn’t know what _this_ development would mean for them on that front.

“I don’t want you to answer right now. You have a few days,” she told him. “I want you to think about it. You _need_ to think about it.”

Yeah, he did but he really wanted to say _yes_ , if for no other reason than it would ease her fears. She wanted this with palpable desperation. Even if he hadn’t been with her through all of it to date, he would be able to see how much this meant to her and what she felt she was risking in asking.

Her eyes were glistening with tears when they found his again.

“You’ve been with me through all of this, Mulder,” she said so earnestly that it nearly broke his heart. Her next words would have brought him to knees had he been standing. “You are _my_ choice, but there are other options so it is okay if you say no.”

He nodded and tried to find his voice with no luck. She didn’t look disappointed. If anything, she looked briefly amused at seeing him so shocked. But her apprehension remained paramount and was rapidly becoming anguish.

As he could have predicted, she chose then to retreat.

She scooted forward on the coffee table and reached for him. Her fingers gently folded behind his neck and drew him to her. He shut his eyes as she pressed a firm, affectionate kiss to his brow and lingered. He tried to remember how many times she’d done that over the years but her breath warm against his skin made it difficult to think. 

He felt bereft when she finally eased away. He did not open his eyes until long after he heard the door close behind her.

*****

After the sweltering heat of Miami nearly two weeks earlier, he welcomed the New England cold as he ran for the first time since he’d been shot. 

The air was crisp in his lungs, not stifling. The wind burned his face, not the sun. He was sweating but didn’t feel like he’d just waded out of a swamp. It was good. He was good. 

And he was thinking.

About a baby – _his_ baby – and the woman who wanted to bear it. Maybe not conceived in any traditional sense, but theirs nonetheless.

A woman he’d slept with, kissed, touched, and seen in all her natural glory but had never been inside of, or felt come around him, or felt her under him as he came. He’d never gone down on her and she’d never given him head. He hadn’t even touched her pussy yet.

And she wanted his child. 

Well, maybe she wasn’t thinking specifically his, but he was. He couldn’t not and he thought maybe he was becoming some primitive male cliché. That was hard on his Renaissance male ego and a shock to his inner feminist. Okay, he could be a pig at times and wasn’t above inappropriate innuendo, but overall, he tried to keep that in check. His partner was a great help on that front. Not being a welcome member of the FBI boy’s club probably helped, too.

Of course, a week ago, when a waiter hit on her at the coffee shop, he’d been less than cordial to the man and left no tip. She had left cash on the table, though, and called him on being a jackass.

“I am more than capable of brushing off unwanted attention by myself,” she’d scolded as they’d walked back to the office.

“You’re my partner,” he’d said instead of apologizing. “It’s in my nature to be protective.”

She’d snorted and rolled her eyes. 

“Territorial is what you are,” she’d said, taking nearly two strides to his one. “There have been a few times I’ve thought about wearing rain boots during a drought, Mulder.”

The mental image of that had made him laugh. 

She’d promptly pinched his arm in retaliation, hard, through his coat, and laughed when he’d vocalized his displeasure with a loud “Ow!” 

The exchange was innocent enough on its own, and had become something of a norm for them when they were alone, but this had happened in front of a bunch of their colleagues coming out of a restaurant from lunch. It had earned them more than a few speculative stares. 

Those weren’t new, though. Half the Bureau thought they had been sleeping together for years and were happy to _educate_ newcomers. The other half was still trying to figure out why Scully gave him the time of day. He was fairly certain there was a pool somewhere on when it started and who made the first move. He could only imagine what would happen to the FBI rumor mill if she were to suddenly show up to work pregnant. 

_Mama and Papa Spooky._

Yeah, that would happen whether he was the donor or not, and it would piss him off. Not the names. He didn’t give a shit about those any more than she did. It would be the gall of people to mock a miracle and belittle something so profoundly important to her. That would set him off and he might have to shoot some people. Or she might; she was the better shot anyway.

As he skirted the Jefferson Memorial, he considered he was probably running farther than he should considering he was only a few weeks out from being shot. He wasn’t in pain but he could feel the beginnings of a burning sensation in his side where the bullet had passed through. He ignored it for now, believing he could make it to the National Mall and take a breather there with the honorable Mr. Lincoln, maybe buy a hot coffee from one of the street vendors. In the winter, they were always huddled around their little carts trying to stay warm while making a living off the tourists willing to brave the weather.

But it actually wasn’t too bad out this morning.

Late January in D.C. could be anywhere from cool to moderately cold to ice cold, and it could change from day to day. It was currently just below freezing and the wind off the Potomac was like ice. In a few hours, it was expected to be quite a bit warmer, at least for those acclimated to the Northeast. Southerners or anyone from the Southern California might find it a bit bracing still.

Born and raised on the East Coast, he was more than acclimated. Cold was his element. Scully’s was heat. He knew she’d spent a number of years in the Northeast with her father’s naval postings but that a good deal of her childhood had been spent in sunny San Diego.

He smiled at the memory of her waking up at the Antarctic base after they’d escaped the alien ship. Exhausted as she was, she had somehow dragged his unconscious ass to the snowcat and its empty gas tank, and kept them alive until rescuers arrived. Then she’d bitched at him when she saw the frostbite on her toes.

“Mulder, for a man who has mentioned more than once the impracticality of my shoes, the least you could have done was brought _me_ a pair of boots,” she’d groused, and complained for days after about the cold.

He hadn’t cared. She could have said anything to him, called him every name in the book, and he would have been happy. She was alive and fussing at him, and that was all he’d needed. That was all he still needed. Her. In his life.

Which brought his thoughts back to the question she’d asked him. 

Did he want to lose what they were moving toward? No. He did not want to give that up and he didn’t think she wanted to either but if she were to become pregnant, things would change. Priorities would necessarily be adjusted, new responsibilities accommodated. He would lose her in the field, at least for a time, possibly for good.

Could he live with that? 

Yeah. He wouldn’t like it but he could knowing why and how much it meant to her.

Could he handle the reality of her carrying another man’s child, even if the man was just a random, nameless, faceless guy who got a paycheck for jacking off?

Oh that last one bothered him way more than he cared to admit but could not deny. He damned near tripped over a flush crack in the sidewalk as the thought crossed his mind. 

“Renaissance man, my ass,” he scolded under his breath.

Mulder shoved that thought aside, pushed it way, way, way back in the farthest corner of his mind and focused on the real issue: 

Did he or did he not want to play a role in creating a life that was also a part of her?

_If I love her and would give my life for her, why wouldn’t I want to make life with her? Why wouldn’t I want to give her that chance when she was brave enough to ask and grasp hold of this one last ray of hope?_

He would be one sorry son-of-a-bitch if he didn’t. And he didn’t want to be a sorry son-of-a-bitch. He wanted her to have this. He wanted to give her this chance. 

They had to try.

Smiling and risking the chance of cracking his chapped lips, Fox Mulder turned around and headed back to Alexandria.

He needed to shower and change, then go see a woman about making a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	39. Bitter Storm of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His shadowed shape soon filled the bedroom doorway and hovered there...
> 
> This part contains explicit sexual content.

Her home was silent save for the sounds of a gentle thunderstorm moving through the Georgetown night, and her quiet sniffles and sometimes hitching breaths. She had cried out her tears a while ago.

Her partner had left hours earlier, at her request, but as she lay in her bed unable to sleep and all too aware of the emptiness of her womb, she questioned why she’d done so. 

Too many years of dealing with everything alone? A ridiculous need to be so put together and in control that the idea of being emotionally exposed was abhorrent and to be avoided at all costs? The need to be strong because everyone expected it? Or was she just self-pity, needing this pain to be hers alone because it had been her body that was violated to begin with?

Her last hope was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and just as silently. She had no idea why God allowed such a thing or why he allowed men to do the evil they had done to her and other women. It was beyond cruel. 

Her mother and her priest would tell her to pray but she didn’t know how to pray about this. All she had were curses, against God and the men who did this to her.

Lightning flashed and a gentle roll of thunder vibrated the windows. She pulled the covers tighter around her and drew her knees up closer to her body. 

The fetal position. It was almost a mockery.

In the next flash of lightning, her eyes were drawn to her mobile phone on the nightstand. She could call him. He would come back. He would do anything she asked. All she had to do was stretch out her arm and close her fingers around the black plastic.

Or she could just lie still and listen as the lock on her front door turned. 

Her breath caught as the muted clunk of the tumblers carried down the hallway and through the open door to her room.

His shadowed shape soon filled the bedroom doorway and hovered there. 

Waiting for permission? No.

Ascertaining if she was awake? Yes. 

Debating. Stay or go?

Deciding. Stay.

She let out a shuddering breath of relief even as her heart clenched tight for an entirely new reason. He stepped into the room with purpose. He shed his clothing and came to her bed with bare skin, wet hair, and a whiskered face damp with more than rain.

She lifted the covers and he slipped under them, his mouth claiming hers as he rolled her to her back and moved over her. She returned his kiss and let him love her. 

His body was lithe and powerful and she reached for him, hands touching his hot skin wherever she could reach. His kisses blistered her neck. His hands shoved up her pajama top. His mouth swallowed up her breasts, each in turn, licking and suckling and biting until she was writhing.

Every part of her ached. Body, soul, and mind. So much had been lost. So much denied. But not this.

_Not this._

Taking his face in her hands, she brought him back up to her and seized his mouth with her own. His body surged against hers, his groin crashing into hers hard enough to dislodge their kiss. 

They both groaned and reached for her pajama bottoms and panties and the garments were quickly lost somewhere under the covers. She opened her legs wide for him and looked up to see him looking at her.

Now he asked permission. Her answer was the only one she ever wanted to have for him.

_Yes. Yes. Yes. I want this. I need this._

“Don’t be gentle,” she breathed and he wasn’t. 

He was careful of her body but he was not the tender lover she had thought he would be the first time. Every look and touch and movement was full of the anguish that had defined much of their experiences together. It was deeply, deeply personal and more intimate than she could have imagined. 

Almost frantic in her need, she gasped at his penetration and locked her legs high around his waist as he methodically worked his way inside her. His hands found hers and held, fingers lacing. He bowed over her and dug his knees into the bed. She arched under him and he pursued her mouth, taking and giving what was needed.

She was lost to all but the heat of him and the driving need she felt from him. He made her cry out with each hard thrust. He watched her reactions and told her in a thousand different expressions of his own loss and his grief for her.

Her heart broke anew. She had never meant for this to hurt him, too. But she hadn’t been alone with any of this since she’d walked into that basement office nearly seven years ago. _This_ was what her family would never understand: that as much as he needed her, she needed him.

“Make me come,” she begged him. “Let me feel you.”

He did, eyes unwavering, dark and deep and discerning. He fucked her relentlessly, watching her come undone under him before pumping her barren womb full of his seed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	40. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I couldn’t stay away..."
> 
> This part contains explicit sexual content.

“I’m sorry, Scully.”

It was a raspy whisper in the dark next to her ear. 

An apology for the IVF failure? For their first time making love not being what they’d both thought it would? Or for probably a thousand other things that weren’t his fault?

“Don’t be, Mulder. For any of it,” she said, squeezing his thigh where her left-hand rested. 

He snuggled impossibly closer to her and skimmed his fingertips along her forearm, up to her right hand, where it rested next to her face. Some part of her quieted under that loving touch and eased more still when he pressed his palm to hers and gently interlaced their fingers.

 _He has lover’s hands,_ she thought when he slowly slipped his fingers from hers and drew them back across her palm and down to her elbow, only to travel the path again. And again. She watched each circuit and felt comforted.

He kissed her shoulder.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. 

She felt a tug at her heart and at the corners of her mouth. It had been a long time since a man had told her that and it truly mean something to her. This time meant something.

“Thank you for coming back,” she breathed, pressing a kiss to the back of his thumb as it caressed hers. 

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said softly. “I couldn’t leave you alone with this.”

He was the only one who wouldn’t. Her family would have scattered to the Four Winds the minute they sensed her imminent collapse, even her mother. She never broke, so when she did, they had no idea how to handle it. Mulder, for all his flaws, knew how to put her back together, even if that meant just being available while giving her the space to do itself. She hadn’t needed space tonight. She’d misjudged that but he hadn’t.

“You’ll stay the night,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question or a demand. 

Upon returning from Miami, they’d talked about the riskiness and perils of sleepovers in a city filled with their colleagues and enemies. They had even avoided it on the road in the one case they’d had since returning to Washington. She did not know how they would handle it in the future but did not want to talk about that now.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured and kissed her ear, then her neck, then her shoulder again. His hand eased from hers to touch her cheek. She felt him push up behind her onto his elbow. She turned her head just as he lowered to kiss her. 

His lips were soft and loving, this kiss so unlike earlier or any they’d exchanged before. She welcomed it and the tender cradling of her cheek, the brush of his thumb along her cheekbone. Then the feel of his cock rising between their bodies.

“I want you,” she breathed when he drew back. She found his eyes in the shadows above her. “Slow this time.”

“Yeah,” he murmured with a solemn smile before kissing her again, fitting his mouth to hers with delicate deliberation. She turned her shoulders toward him to deepen the connection. 

His hand moved from her face, down along her side, beneath the covers to her hip. He tilted her pelvis then smoothed his hand along the back of her thigh and easing it forward and up, pushing her knee almost to her chest. She hummed her approval then whimpered against his mouth when he grazed his fingers along her labia, much as he had her arm. 

Such an exquisite touch, in both places. But there, just there, back and forth, gradually, gently slipping deeper between the folds of her sex … _perfection_.

Two fingers, knuckle deep, and she arched and pushed the digits deeper. She tore her mouth from his with a throaty moan and turned her head to bury her face in the pillow and muffle the sound. 

“Mulder,” she gasped and twisted her torso forward to open herself more for him. It was a completely involuntary response, which was what he’d wanted, because now he was easing inside her, thick and long and hard.

He felt so good. 

His hand found hers once more and she felt her silken wetness on his fingers and clutched at them with her own. He huddled close at her back and thrust slowly. 

It felt so very good. He reached all the right places. Then he bowed back from her and thrust deeper and found more places. 

She cried softly at the beauty of it, not remembering the last time she’d felt so much truth in this act of the flesh. His hand held hers tightly. He extended her arm and pressed the back of her palm into the mattress with each reaching push of his cock into her.

She bit the pillow and twisted further still, drawing his hand to her chest and his arm around her, willing him back to her. He came, curling his upper body over hers, pressing his chest to her back. 

Then he was gone from inside her and she was being pulled fully under him. Her hips were lifted up from the mattress and tilted to a sharp angle. Her pillow was shoved away and he pushed slowly back inside her with a low groan, going deep, and she arched to take more. 

It was a dance. A beautiful, sensual dance. Bodies gracefully moving apart and then back together. Fluid. In sync. Slow, so slow that the meeting of their flesh was only a soft sound beneath the covers, nearly inaudible against the backdrop of rain and protests of the mattress.

His hands found hers and brought her arms above her head. His large body pressed hers into the bed as he laced their fingers. He held them as he worked his hips against hers. 

He was a large man in every respect but her small body accommodated him generously and moved with his, welcoming his repeated invasions, encouraging them.

Near her orgasm, his cock found her cervix, the entrance to her womb, and for a moment, right on the precipice, the span of a hitched breath, she prayed for a miracle that she knew would never come. 

She splintered as her heart broke. She called for him and he shoved deep repeatedly in answer. Then he shuddered hard against her back. 

Overwhelmed and grieved, she cried into the mattress beneath her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	41. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s been a long time since I last had sex with a man,” she found herself confessing.
> 
> This part contains explicit sexual content.

_I tread a path that is more darkness than light. But there is light and it gives me hope that not all of my days will be shadowed and filled with fear and grief._

_My hope comes in the form of the man who walks this path with me. At my side, at my back, standing between me and whatever threatens, while I do the same for him. We are a coin, two equal halves of a whole._

_It may seem odd that I, as a scientist and FBI agent, would speak of us in such poetic or romantically idealistic concepts but I am not of a singular nature or discipline. I hold true to the logical and rational, and the hard tenets of science and medicine, but I also believe there are truly more worlds than the one I can hold in my hand, as a wise man once told me. And I believe in a God who may see fit to grant great blessings in the face of great sorrows and cruelties._

_The man lying beside me, amongst the tangled sheets that smell of us, is my greatest blessing. He is the bringer of the darkness but he is also my steadfast beacon, giving me the courage to look into the darkness in search of truths both terrible and wondrous._

_The greatest truth is that I would be lost without him, adrift in a world that does not understand what we do or who we are or what we are to each other. I never want to live a moment of my life he is not in._

_This night, we have shared the grief for a child never to be, merging into our path a solitary route that I have travelled needlessly alone._

_We may not always walk our path in triumph but we walk it together. Whatever the future brings, I can not and will not stray from his side. To do so would be to damn my half-soul to misery, a fate perhaps worse than an eternity of damnation._

***

“What are you writing?”

“Just an entry in my journal,” she said as she saved the file and closed up her computer. The room got substantially darker. She reached over and settled the device on her nightstand by rote. Her glasses followed, coming to rest with a soft click on the polished wood.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked at her partner. He was remarkably awake for a man who’d made love to her twice in the span of a couple of hours. Plus it was nearing five a.m.

“Why are you awake?” she asked as she scooted down under the covers with him.

“Somebody was typing,” he said and she saw him smile.

She stretched out on her side, mirroring his position mere inches from him. She slipped her left hand under her cheek and gazed at him across the pillows.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her right hand coming to rest just over his heart.

“I’ll forgive you if I’m in it,” he teased, his trademark smirk making an appearance.

“How fortunate for me,” she said, smiling and relieved that she still could smile. 

She caressed him gently, her hand moving up to his shoulder and the scar there. That was her handiwork. She ran her thumb across it in apology.

“Are you going into the office today?” she asked. He often worked weekends even when they didn’t have a pressing case, usually looking for a case or doing some obscure research. 

“No. I didn’t know how things would go,” he said and left it at that. He really didn’t need to say more.

“We should sleep in then,” she said and watched his eyebrows raise – she never really _slept in_. She smiled again. “We’ll eat lunch later or something.”

She touched his cheek then traced around his ear. She felt him shiver and saw his eyes hood. He liked that touch. She made a mental note as she brushed the backs of her fingers across his cheek and along the length of his neck. His whiskers burned against her skin and she liked that. 

“It’s been a long time since I last had sex with a man,” she found herself confessing.

“How long?” 

Her gaze flickered to his and saw curiosity, not jealously. His possessiveness of her was mostly annoying but occasionally adorable. Sometimes, though, very rarely and she confessed only to herself, flattering.

“Years,” she told him, drawing her fingers along the graceful line of his clavicle. “The last time was just after I joined the X-files.”

She could see she’d surprised him again. 

“You’ve had plenty of admirers over the years,” he said after several moments. 

She didn’t deny it; she knew men looked, as did women. Just like they looked at him.

“When has there been time? For either of us,” she said, fingers still traveling, now gliding down his sternum. 

“In that context, this makes a whole lot of sense,” she continued, reaching his taut and toned abdomen. He was not too sculpted or too smooth. He was perfectly contoured, the body of a runner and swimmer. She could feel the shape of each muscle beneath his smooth skin. It was mesmerizing to follow the flow of them, the curves and dips.

“But we both know this will never be about just sex,” he said. “Even if we just fuck.”

She smiled and nodded then looked down to where her hand now travelled. She gently raked her nails through that trail of dark hairs that led beneath the covers to his cock. She met his gaze again and ran the heel of her hand firmly along the length of his shaft.

He shuddered and his eyes fell shut. She drew her hand back up, nails lightly, lightly grazing the velvet-soft skin that covered him. _Circumcised, of course,_ she mused as she used the pads of her fingers to trace the dome and caress the small opening at the top. 

God, she’d missed touching a man. She was glad to finally touch _this man_. She’d wanted to feel him since he’d displayed himself for her in the Miami hotel. He felt as good as he looked, both inside her and like this. Her pussy tightened at the memory. She firmly ignored the reviving ache in her womb and concentrated on the full-on lust stirring in a long-dormant part of her. Her body would never make a baby, but it could respond to a man and be used to make him lose his mind for a while.

“Considering recent events, would you judge me for wanting to just fuck?”

Dark hazel eyes looked at her through thick lashes. “I’m absolutely the wrong guy to ask that question right now. You have my dick in your hand.”

“I do,” she said softly, curling her fingers around him and stroking him gently. She was beginning to feel a bit breathless. She was pretty sure she was wet, but conceded that some of that could be _them_ from earlier.

She liked hearing him moan and feeling him start thrusting in her grip. Ah, the Human Sexual Response Cycle, Phase One: Excitement. 

On her next descent, she swept her hand down farther and cupped his balls. She massaged them in her palm and his features contorted, lines drawing tight across the bones of his face, brow furrowing in concentration.

“Fuck,” he groaned. 

“Yes,” she agreed.

Releasing his penis, she pressed his hip and he rolled to his back. She threw the covers aside then descended his body, grazing kisses across his chest and abdomen. But she didn’t linger. 

What she wanted in her mouth was lower and tended to have a mind of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	42. Not Just F*cking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to fuck you,” she declared, deadly serious, and it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. Frohike could have his porn collection; that crap would never do it for him again.
> 
> This part contains explicit sexual content.

Fox Mulder might be persuaded to believe in God. He was willing to be a convert if Dana Scully’s mouth never left his cock.

_Holy Christ._

On her knees, his knees between hers, her head buried in his lap, she was sucking his dick in a way that was practically obscene. Not that he was complaining. The part of his brain that was working was trying to craft a thank-you note to whoever taught her to give head. The part not working seethed because she’d learned that particular talent elsewhere.

 _Fucking motherfucker._ He wanted to shake the man’s hand _and_ yank his balls up through his nostrils at the same time.

Yeah, Renaissance man he wasn’t. The inner feminist had left the building with Elvis. Fuck he couldn’t think straight. He saw colors and flashes of light and felt so fucking good. Then he felt even better as something hotter, wetter, and tighter slid down his length. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” he moaned, opening his eyes to see her body taking his in. He hadn’t watched that yet. It was enough to render him near-senseless. 

She leaned down over him and kissed him, slow and sleek. She raised just enough then to look into his eyes. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” she declared, deadly serious, and it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. Frohike could have his porn collection; that crap would never do it for him again.

“Do it,” he challenged her and she did. 

She rode him with a vengeance and he just held on as she took him the way he’d taken her earlier, twice. Only she was flat out fucking him for pleasure. He thanked her God that there was no sight of the grief from earlier. It would be back but right now–

“Oh God, Scully,” he groaned when she leaned back and placed her hands on his upper thighs. He held her waist as she slowed and elongated every roll of her hips, arching her spine. She was sublime, an absolute feral beauty as she took her pleasure and gave him his.

When he couldn’t handle any more, he sat up. She gasped as his hands found the small of her back then slid down to grasp her ass. He pulled her hips down and held her there in the cradle of his groin. She sat up and looked at him. She was panting and flush with exertion. Her eyes were hooded and he could just make out the blue. She was completely focused on him. 

“You do that much longer and I won’t last,” he informed her and she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We can’t have that,” she said then pressed her brow to his.

He chuffed a laugh and slid a hand up into her hair. He drew her back slowly. One look into those blue eyes and he was an absolute goner.

“Come here,” he breathed and titled his head to kiss her. 

He paid attention to each lip, top and bottom. He catalogued in his eidetic memory how they each tasted and felt against his tongue and between his lips. He gauged exactly how far he could tug and how long he could suck the bottom one before she would make this little keening sound and follow him back for another kiss. 

She was an absolute wonder in bed. He supposed he should have known since he found her so fascinating out of bed.

Hands on her hips, he urged her to move again, just rolling her hips slowly, tilting her at just the right angle for her clit to hit his pubic bone. She released his mouth with a sharp inhale.

“That’s it,” he whispered in encouragement, “Just like that.”

She made soft sounds on each undulation as her hands curled into his hair.

“Feels good, yeah?” he whispered in both question and observation.

“Yes,” she nodded and her hair fell forward, a curtain of fire around their faces. He found himself wishing it was longer, like it had been when they first met so it would shroud them completely. He wondered if she’d grow it out again if he mentioned it and called himself a fool. 

“Tell me when you want more,” he murmured, his breath hot and humid between, blending with her own.

“I want more,” she told him moments later.

“Lay back,” he said, moving his hands to her back.

She didn’t question the direction and let him guide her slowly down until her back was flush against the bed, her torso cradled between his outstretched legs. 

God, she looked so vulnerable in that position, her hips angled back with his cock only partially in her. He would help her straighten her legs in a moment so she wouldn’t cramp, but first he _had_ to touch those beautiful tits.

He grasped them firmly then kneaded them gently. She arched further and pushed them into his palms. 

“Harder?” he asked.

She nodded, a throaty “yes” accompanying the motion.

He was rougher but not rough. He massaged them, found her nipples and squeezed and plucked and pulled. Awkward the angle might be, she worked her gorgeous cunt on his cock, her inner muscles rippling around him. 

For a guy who had watched a lot of porn over the years, this was way, way, way better. It was a visual and sensory feast and it was just for him, not mass consumption. He thought about telling her but he didn’t think she’d appreciate the observation, so he smoothed his hands along her body, to her thighs. He caressed them.

“Come on,” he said, “put them around me.”

Together, they moved her into place and put his cock back inside her. Then he caught her wrists and snatched her upright again.

She let out a sharp, almost-pained sound as she quickly settled full down on him. She’d made that sound earlier, too, just before she’d come.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a soft laugh. “You’re just against my cervix. Which is impressive considering how the female physiology responds in preparation for intercourse.”

He was human and a male, so that went straight to his ego and he knew he looked like a prideful jackass when he smiled back at her.

“Yes, you’re that deep,” she said, further stoking his ego.

He couldn’t resist. “Where no man has gone before?”

Her right eyebrow slowly raised, but not in annoyance. Oh no, she was mocking him and his reference. He laughed softly and was kissed. Soft and slow and sweet and rewarded with an answer.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

He didn’t ask her to clarify if she was referring to the fact his sperm had fertilized her eggs and been implanted in the chamber just beyond her cervix. Or if she meant how big he was. Frankly, it wasn’t important.

Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tight to his body and turned them over.

He was going to make love to her now. The way he had thought he would the first time. 

“ _Just fucking_ can wait,” he told her as he began to move inside her.

She didn’t argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> More to come!
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	43. You're Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Should I have not told you?” he asked.

The rain had stopped by ten but they hadn’t gotten out of bed until nearly noon. And it had been almost two when they’d finally left her apartment to get some fresh air.

Tempting as it had been to cocoon themselves away for the weekend and hump like rabbits, they had serious matters to deal with, things that had nothing to do with sex, or lovemaking for that matter.

It was going to take time for the reopened wound of her barrenness to heal. He almost wished he hadn’t found her ova or that he’d told her about them. But he couldn’t help but think that would have been wrong.

“Should I have not told you?” he asked, looking over at her.

They were strolling along the gravel path between the Capitol and Washington Monument. Her left arm was hooked through his, her gloved hand curled around his bicep. Each of them carried coffees he’d bought at a street-side vendor.

“I don’t know,” she said and he knew it was an honest answer. Yes or no would have been easy. “But,” she continued, “If you’re asking if you did something wrong, then no, you didn’t.”

“I was afraid I’d hurt you, and considering the results…” he let his voice trail off as his eyes moved from her to the small gathering of tourists ahead. He preemptively altered their course to go around them.

“Or lack of them,” she said with clear bitterness but it was nowhere to be found when she continued. “I was upset but I knew you hadn’t been keeping them from me or keeping them a secret, Mulder,” she said. “You can be selfish and insensitive sometimes and a possessive jerk at others, but I know you would not have hidden the chance of motherhood from me if you’d known there was a possibility. As for the end results, they are what they are.”

They fell silent and walked along, gravel crunching and grating beneath their feet. Around them tourists snapped pictures and talked amongst themselves while tour guides related various facts about the history of the National Mall and monuments. It was an interesting history but he had heard it all before. He was sure his partner had, too.

“Mulder, why did you agree to be the donor?” she asked once they were out of earshot of a larger group of visitors.

He looked down at her and saw her looking up at him. “Probably most of the reasons that have been running through your mind all afternoon, Scully,” he said, giving her a little smile.

She didn’t ask him to elaborate so he didn’t. They crossed 17th Street then took the tree-shaded path to the Lincoln memorial, avoiding the camera-crazy crowds around the reflecting pool. The visitors to the Vietnam memorial were more somber, which matched his and Scully’s mood.

Earlier, their moods had been different altogether. 

In the light of day, they had both been suddenly shy, then they’d been amused _because_ they were shy. A little mutual masturbation in the shower had eased the awkwardness and they’d since slipped back into their familiar roles as friends and partners, with an added dimension and new physical awareness.

He warmed at the memory of how she had smiled at the cafe where they’d had lunch. Their hands had touched when they reached for napkins at the same time. She hadn’t blushed but her eyes had found his quickly and he’d watched her pulse quicken at the base of her throat. He’d felt the thrill, too, and returned her smile.

He knew he was smiling like a fool now as his mind tapped his memories of the shower and of the early morning hour when she’d been astride him, her back arched and breasts thrust skyward while her hips bucked against his.

“What?”

He glanced at his partner and blushed profusely when he saw her raised eyebrow.

Saucy would describe the expression that emerged on her face and the smile that graced her mouth. “Oh, he blushes,” she teased.

He could only laugh at himself and leaned over and kiss the top of her head before they emerged from the trees near the Lincoln Memorial. She squeezed his arm in response then released him as they slowly ascended to the top marble step and sat there, hip to hip. 

He one-handed his coffee and took a sip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cradled her own. Wind ruffled his short hair and he glanced over to see his companion redirecting a lock of hers that caught in the current. She tucked it behind her ear then looked at him and smiled.

She didn’t blush but those blue eyes were filled with the knowledge of what they’d shared the night before. _Optical candor_ , he mused and offered her the same. He liked that she still didn’t blush.

“I want to do that again,” she said.

He smiled, then she did when he asked, “Which part?”

She shrugged but her gaze was anything but indifferent. “Pretty much all of it.”

“Which part didn’t you like?”

A dark shadow crossed her face but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He nodded in understanding and then, wanting to ease her away from those thoughts, he leaned over and whispered in her ear something he’d been wanting to do for weeks, since that first night in Miami.

“There’s something I want to do.”

When he lingered, she tilted her head toward him and lowered her chin. They had always done some version of this little exchange over the years, but the space between them had decreased over the years. Now there was virtually none.

“What’s that?” she asked, her voice soft in a way that betrayed her arousal.

He smiled and leaned even closer. 

“I think you might prefer I show you instead of telling you.”

She moved her head back, just enough to catch and search his eyes. He didn’t bother to conceal his desire. She still didn’t blush, which made him smile.

“I was interrupted last time,” he said simply.

She looked amused now. 

“You were,” she agreed then looked out across the mall. 

He kept his eyes on her. She was thinking. She was _always_ thinking. Then she frowned. 

“How do we do this, Mulder?” she said, gaze moving across the landscape and people. “I know we’ve talked about the potential issues within the FBI and the dangers from those without, but I don’t know what your expectations are, or mine.”

Mulder sighed and joined her in observing their surroundings but he wasn’t really absorbing them. His mind was focused on her concerns. They were valid and she was right to bring up the subject but he didn’t think either of them was going to have answers in the next ten minutes.  

“I think maybe this isn’t the time for that discussion,” he said eventually. “Last night wasn’t planned or what either of us had expected it would be.”

He watched her lean forward and set her coffee next to her feet. She clasped her hands in front of her.

“You think we’re rushing things?” she asked and he felt her draw away from him. She didn’t move away, but her body drew tighter in upon itself. That unexpectedly hurt even when he knew it had been an involuntary response.

“I think we both need time to process what’s happened,” he said in answer. “And I don’t mean just the sex.”

He heard her take a measured breath and looked over at the same time she did. Their gazes met.

“Do you regret agreeing to help … or last night?” she asked. It was a brave question to ask, on both counts. But she had a long history of asking those.

“No,” he told her honestly. His only regret was that their first time hadn’t been under happier circumstances. But he didn’t tell her that, not wishing to upset her further, not here where others could see her grief. And he absolutely did not regret the other.

“Do you regret last night?” he braved himself.

He was relieved when she didn’t have to think about it but it pained him to see her eyes grow glassy.

“No,” she said softly. “I needed you. And I think maybe you needed me.”

He had needed her. And he had needed her to need him. 

He understood why she’d sent him away – it’s just what she did – but it had felt like a punch to the gut. Then he’d thought about her and what she had to have been feeling. He hadn’t been able to stand the thought of her burying the last of her hopes for motherhood alone. Knowing that if the IVF had been successful the child would have been his, he’d stuck the keys back in the ignition and drove back to her place. He’d never even gotten out of the car at his.

After arriving and assessing her emotional state, he’d come to face with a hard truth: much as he respected her autonomy and privacy he would not have left again, even if she had demanded him to. He’d have stayed on the couch but he wouldn’t have left her alone.

Damning anyone who might be watching, Mulder held out his hand to her. She took it and he held it tight.

“You’re not alone, Scully,” he told her and let her interpret it however she needed.

She gave him a little smile and tightened her own grip. 

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of You're Not Alone, the first part of a (planned) multi-part series – number of parts has yet to be determined.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story!


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